


Persephone's Waltz

by ErinPtah



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Courtly Love, F/F, Girls Kissing, Imprisonment, Stockholm Syndrome, Time Loop, everybody has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 70,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The more times she fails to save Madoka, the more desperate Homura gets...until kidnapping her and locking her in a basement until Walpurgisnacht is over stops sounding like such a crazy idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Volume I) This is a joke, right?

**Author's Note:**

> For full list of warnings and notes, see [the DW index page](http://ptahrrific.dreamwidth.org/166199.html).

_The terrible reunions in store for her_  
will take up the rest of her life.  
When the passion for expiation  
is chronic, fierce, you do not choose  
the way you live. You do not live;  
you are not allowed to die.  
—Louise Glück, "Persephone the Wanderer"

 

***

 

The stairs spiral up forever. They're far beyond any building, reaching into the sky without so much as a railing to mark their boundaries. In the air beyond their edges, sheets of flower petals drift downward like falling snow.

She runs up.

It feels like she's been running for an eon, like her whole past is made up of running and her whole future destined for the same. But eventually there's a gate, and beyond it a platform, and beyond it (against all logic or sense, but somehow, probably because this is a dream, she doesn't question it) a freestanding set of rollers from a car wash. She hesitates only for a second before diving through.

On the other side is chaos.

She's come out on the top floor of a building, sprouting twisted, blackened girders and charred scraps of furniture that show it hasn't held the position long. The air's choked with soot, the sky clouded over, the crumbling block around her bathed in bleak grey light. A monorail line runs past the building, its supports maybe three meters below her shoes, with the last broken half-car of a darkened train hanging off the tracks; she doesn't dare look long enough to tell whether there are bodies inside.

There's a creature floating overhead, a monster of gears and lace, its shrill laughter rattling a cityful of broken windows as explosions bloom uselessly across its flanks.

"You can stop this," says the figure beside her, a little white marshmallow of a critter with a tail as big again as itself. "You have the power to change destiny."

She watches, mute, as _that girl_ comes flying across the sky, slamming into the roof of one of the subway cars hard enough to break bones.

A chunk of falling masonry shears against the face of the next building over, snapping wood and shattering glass as it passes; the roar fills her ears, drowning whatever groans the other girl makes as she fights to sit up in the crater of her own impact. This hit almost killed her. The next one will come closer. The one after that....

_It doesn't matter what happens to me! Not if I can save the city...and that girl..._

"I wish—"

There's an explosion of white light, this one with herself at the heart.

The other girl _screams_. It's a howl of rage and pain too wild for an animal, let alone a human being, and it cuts through the din like a razor.

She ignores it, focuses instead on the ripped section of wall now hurtling toward them, its silhouette frayed by pipes jutting out from the edges. Ignores the bulging eyes, the fury that resolves itself into words—"You don't listen! You never fucking _listen!_ " Blocks it all out and leaps to the rescue.

With a final sob the other girl collapses, a crumpled heap of torn fabric and tangled black hair.

Madoka draws her bow.

 

***

**March 25, 2011  
Friday**

The stuffed bunny squished under her elbow as she stirred. She'd managed to fall asleep on its face; she could feel its plastic nose pressing into her forehead. That was going to leave a dent.

Madoka sat up in bed, dragging Mr. Bun with her. With the blinds down, her room was well-shadowed, though there was still enough light to make her close her bleary eyes rather than look at the windows.

With a sigh, she flopped forward onto the oversized bunny. "What a weird dream."

 

***

 

While half the girls in class crowded around the new student's desk, Sayaka folded her arms and sighed. "The poor girl just got out of the hospital, and now they're going to have to send her back for suffocation."

"She does seem fragile," agreed Hitomi. "Madoka-san, you should make sure she knows where the nurse's office...Madoka-san?"

A hearty slap on the back from Sayaka snapped Madoka out of her daze. "I think someone's got a _crush!_ "

"W-what? No!" stammered Madoka, as the half-remembered images she'd been trying to gather dissolved completely.

"No? Then why have you been staring at her ever since she walked in?" demanded Sayaka, her wolfish grin the polar opposite of Hitomi's scandalized squeak.

"I...I think I've seen her somewhere before. In a dream." Madoka blushed even harder at the way that sounded. "I was trying to figure out if it was really her, or just somebody who looks like her."

"Well, that settles it!" said Sayaka. "It's destiny! And a lucky one for you, too. With her cute face and those glasses, she's totally _moe_. And look how vulnerable she is, in a new school with that fragile body...I bet if you act cool and dazzle her with those flashy hair ribbons, she'll fall right into your arms."

"Sayaka-san, you're so mean!" Tears sprang to Hitomi's eyes. "How can you talk about taking advantage of someone like that?"

"Aw, Hitomi, relax." Sayaka reached awkwardly out to her, while between them Madoka lowered her head to avoid broadcasting her embarrassment like a lighthouse. "I'm just teasing."

"E-excuse me?"

Timid as the voice was, all three girls snapped to attention.

Akemi Homura stood in front of Madoka's desk. She would've been tall if her shoulders weren't hunched into a perpetual cringe. Her silky yamato-nadeshiko hair was gathered into two thick braids; her cherry-red glasses seemed too bright on her ashen face. "Kaname...san? You're the health representative...?"

"Yes! Yes, that's me! Do you feel sick? Do you want me to take you to the nurse?"

Homura nodded. "P-please."

 

***

 

Homura didn't say much as Madoka led her down the brass-and-glass halls, in spite of Madoka's best efforts to put her at ease. She stammered when Madoka commented on her cool name; she mumbled when Madoka invited her to a study group for any subjects where she'd fallen behind.

They were passing through the covered walkway over the courtyard when Homura finally spoke on her own: "Kaname-san, you're a very caring person, aren't you."

"Because I offered to study with you? It's not such a big deal. Anyone would do that."

"But you're the one who did," said Homura. "And you only met me today. You care a lot for your friends and family, right?"

"Of course!" Madoka thought of her father, showing Tatsuya how to pick ripe cherry tomatoes; her mother, pointing to the bright red ribbons and saying a woman should always dress as if she had a secret admirer; Sayaka and Hitomi, laughing and joking as they walked together under the trees. "My friends and family are very important to me."

"And if they were in some sort of danger, you'd try to protect them? In any way you could?"

"Well, of course I would," said Madoka uncertainly. "I don't know how much good it would do—I'm not a very strong person, and I don't have any special talents—but I would try."

Homura nodded. She was still lagging a half step behind Madoka, still with her eyes fixed firmly on the heels of Madoka's Mary Janes; but there was a subtle change in her demeanor, less of a stumble in her gait. "Kaname-san, are you busy this afternoon?"

"Please, call me Madoka! And, well, I was going to spend some time at the mall with Hitomi-chan and Sayaka-chan...would you like to join us? It'll help you start getting to know the town."

"Could we help me get to know the town without them?"

"Are you worried you won't get along? You'll like them, I promise! And I'm sure they'll—"

"I get nervous in groups," interrupted Homura, cutting Madoka off for the first time. "But I understand—if you already have plans, I don't want to be demanding...."

"It's okay, really! We hang out all the time. They'll understand if something comes up once in a while." They came to a stop in front of the nurse's office. "Not that I only want to hang out with you once in a while...I mean, we'll figure out the details of that based on how this goes, right? And on your health, if that's an issue. And...well, we can talk about it later, because this is the nurse."

Homura nodded. "I'll see you after school," she said, head still down. "Thank you, Madoka-chan. You have no idea how much this means to me."

 

***

 

"Ahhhh! Madoka-san has a forbidden-love _date!_ " wailed Hitomi, and took off running. A few of the other students in the courtyard stared after her as she passed.

Sayaka sighed. "Don't worry, I'll catch up with her. You have fun with Akemi-san."

"It's not really a date, you know," said Madoka. Somehow, though she knew Hitomi would have overreacted anyway, it felt important to make that clear. "Homura-chan's shy, that's all."

"Of course she is," said Sayaka, patting her on the back. Madoka sighed with relief: too soon, as Sayaka went on, "It's normal to be shy around someone you like!"

"S-Sayaka-chan!"

Sayaka was already striding away. "See you later!" she called, waving to Madoka over her shoulder.

Almost too flustered to know which way was up, Madoka managed a halfhearted wave in return, then spotted Homura's dark hair not far off. Gathering what was left of her wits, Madoka went to greet her.

 

***

 

The stuffed panda squished under her elbow as she stirred. She'd managed to fall asleep on its face; she could feel its plastic nose pressing into her cheek. That was going to leave a dent.

Wait a minute. She didn't own a stuffed panda.

Madoka tried to sit up, only to be thwarted by a heaviness in her limbs. Her eyelids were more cooperative, revealing a scene that jarred against her senses. From the pale-jade paint and the pattern on the crumpled sheet, it looked like the edge of her bed where it pressed against the corner of the room; but the light was all wrong...the texture of the wall too smooth, as if the drywall had been sanded in the night...the air thick with an unfamiliar smell, like old paper.

Maybe the last fragments of a dream were bleeding through into waking. She took another shot at moving, noting as she did that her arm was still in the cuffed sleeve of her school uniform.

"Kaname Madoka."

The shock gave Madoka the strength to roll over, knocking Panda-san aside as she did. "H-Homura-chan!" she said weakly, picking the other girl's form out of a blur of space and furniture. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry," said Homura.

It had to be the same Homura, right? Same voice, same silky hair....but the girl watching her from an office chair beside the bed had a completely different bearing from the shy, mincing creature Madoka had met in school. This Homura had perfect posture, along with unbound hair and cold, piercing eyes unshielded by glasses. And she was dressed in the purple-and-white uniform Madoka remembered from...somewhere.

"Don't try to sit up yet, Kaname Madoka," continued Homura. "You might still be dizzy."

"I told you, you can call me Madoka-chan...."

"You won't want me to do that anymore."

"Why wouldn't I?" Madoka blinked, dazed. She didn't remember Homura doing anything unforgivable when they went out for hot dogs. But then, she didn't remember anything at all after that. "And what happened? I didn't faint, did I? Is this your room?"

"From now on, it's yours," said Homura. "I'm sorry, but you were in danger. So I drugged you, and I brought you somewhere safe, and for the next five weeks I'm afraid I can't let you leave."

Madoka started to giggle.

"I'm sorry, Homura-chan," she said, eyes sliding closed once more. "I'll listen to your story, but I can't seem to stay awake. Please be...patient...."

The last thing she heard was Homura's voice. "Take all the time you need, Kaname Madoka."

 

***

 

Awareness came back more easily the second time, and was harder to laugh off. Madoka sat up straight in bed, head hardly spinning at all. "Homura-chan!"

"Yes, Kaname Madoka?"

"I...with you...." She'd been about to say _I had the strangest dream._ But here she was, wide awake, and once more in the room that looked almost like her own but with the wrong stuffed animals, and the doors in the wrong places, and no windows at all. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"It would have been bad if you woke up alone," said Homura plainly. "You woke up once before. Do you remember?"

"Sort of. You said you were kidnapping me," admitted Madoka with a laugh. She never would've guessed shy, awkward Homura-chan could put on such a cool face.

"If you're well, I'll show you around."

"I'm fine." There was still a dull throbbing behind her ears, but Madoka didn't want to complain. "This is a joke, right? Where's the hidden camera?"

Homura didn't smile. Her hair barely rippled as she stood, letting Madoka's eyes follow her to the desk: a half-circle with the same sleek lines and teal coloring as Madoka's own, though the laptop was a standalone model a few years old. "Nothing in this room will transmit anywhere outside it, nor respond to outside communication or tracking attempts. This computer is for passing time only. It has...games."

Madoka decided to go along with it. "That's good."

"There are takeout menus in the top drawer, here." Homura pulled it out an inch; it slid closed again of its own accord when she let go. "If you want anything, write it down and leave it by the door."

The only door Madoka could see was a closed one of unpolished wood, breaking up the blank wall on the far side of the room. It wasn't the one Homura pointed to. Instead she gestured to a corner, where the wall beside them stopped a few feet too soon, revealing a half-painted tail of an alcove. If this led to an exit, Madoka couldn't see it from this angle.

"There's also food in the fridge, over here." Homura touched a mini-fridge, which, along with a low cupboard, sat at the foot of Madoka's bed. Or rather, the strange bed that happened to be the same model as hers. "I put in some basics, as well as a chocolate cake. Not as good as Tomoe Mami's, I'm afraid."

"Who's that?"

"I'm afraid I can't risk giving you a stove, because you won't be able to get out if there's a fire. Any cool or cold foods you would like, ask. Money is no object." She opened the cupboard, lifting out boxes of cereal and snacks one by one. Plastic dishes rattled as she jostled them. "There are vitamins, too. Take one per day."

Experimentally, Madoka kicked off the blankets. Her skirt was crumpled and her thigh-high white socks were bunching around her knees; her shoes were nowhere to be seen. She swung her feet off the mattress and tested the floor: cold, solid concrete, happily broken up by a thick blue rug.

If Homura cared about this motion, she gave no sign of it. "This is the bathroom," she continued, twisting the knob and pushing it inward to reveal a shadowed room of ceramic and white tile. She wasn't looking at Madoka at all. "I got the pink soap in the shape of a strawberry. The kind you like."

And with that tiny note, the scales of Madoka's world tipped.

Homura couldn't possibly know something like that. Not unless she had been listening in on the shopping trip a month ago when Madoka had tried to wheedle her mother into buying more scented soap. Or watching through her bathroom window...more than a year earlier. Either way, if this was meant to be a game, it was a game that included bona fide stalking.

Madoka was scared.

She was also between Homura and the exit.

She didn't stop to think. She bolted like a scared fawn, arms flailing, not slowing down on the turn, just hitting the wall and pushing off of it. The alcove led to a whole staircase behind the wall, and the stairs to a wide-open iron-framed door. Cotton-clad feet pounded up the bare steps. Twenty, thirty to the top? Nothing as surreal as her dream, at least. Just ordinary masonry walls leading up to an ordinary room of white paint and portraits and the faintest gleam of ordinary daylight.

Two arm's-lengths from the top, the door slammed in her face.

Madoka crashed against the sturdy metal palms-first, already out of breath. The knob wouldn't even turn; it was stuck fast. Who had closed it? Were she and Homura both prisoners, or was it an accident?

"Homura-chan!" she blurted, stumbling back down. "The door—!"

"—is closed," said a muffled voice. "I'm sorry, Kaname-san. It has to be this way."

"Are we underground?" The words came out a squeak.

"Yes. That is, you are."

On the fourth step down Madoka swayed, leaning against the gritty wall.

"I knew you would try to run," continued Homura through the crack under the door. "I almost hoped you wouldn't. But you're not the kind of girl who gives up easily. I admire that about you, Kaname-san."

"How can you say that?" demanded Madoka, eyes suddenly hot with tears. "Even if you've been watching me, you've never talked to me! You don't know anything about me!"

"I can't explain right now. Please be patient."

"You don't have to do this!" Madoka slapped one hand against the metal. "Just let me go. I won't tell anyone. It's still the same evening, right?" It occurred to her in that moment that maybe it _wasn't_. "I'll say we were having so much fun that I lost track of time. Or that I decided to sleep over and forgot to call. I won't say a word about any of this, no matter how angry my parents get. You won't be in any trouble! Just let me out!"

"I can't. I hope someday you'll understand why."

"Let me out!" She was crying for real now, pounding uselessly on the door. "Please, Akemi-san, let me out!"

"I have some things to take care of now," said Homura. "I'll be back tomorrow, Kaname Madoka. Six PM exactly. I promise."

And she was gone.


	2. I'm not taking anything from her.

**March 25  
(Continued)**

The sides of her fists were red and raw when she finally collapsed. Her steel opponent hadn't taken so much as a dent.

Madoka could have stayed in a crumpled heap for much longer if nature hadn't called. She half-walked, half-crawled back down the stairs, to the sparsely decorated bedroom that was apparently her prison and the bathroom whose features she now wished she had paid more attention to. It turned out to hold a Western-style toilet with only one roll of toilet paper to be seen.

Using the strawberry soap made her stomach lurch with a new wave of fear. If there had been any other kind, she wouldn't have touched it.

For lack of anything better to do, Madoka stumbled back out into the main bedroom. At last she noticed the silver-framed clock on the wall, its hands pointing to half past nine. The laptop had been set to the same time. Maybe the clocks in the outside world disagreed, but without a wireless connection, she had no way to know.

Mama might still be out drinking with colleagues, but Papa would be worrying himself sick. He'd call her phone soon enough, if he hadn't already.

Would Homura answer? Madoka wouldn't have put anything past the girl's acting skills at that point. It would cheat the police out of several hours' searching time if she put on her stammering, trembling voice and convinced Papa that Madoka was in a dressing room, or waiting in line for food. All she had to do after that was toss the phone in a canal.

Madoka had last seen them at breakfast, and already she missed her parents terribly.

In spite of that, it was thoughts of her family that kept the weight of despair from crushing her afresh. _Don't lose heart,_ her father would say if he were here. _Your strong heart is one of your best features._ And Tatsuya would echo his words, at least one or two of them, at the top of his little lungs.

Mama, on the other hand, would say, _This is no time to be slacking off! When a woman is backed into a corner, that's exactly when she must take her destiny into her own hands! You have a window of opportunity here, so don't waste it. Find out as much as you can!_

Madoka turned to a simple oval mirror hanging on the wall, its silver frame matching the one on the clock. Her face was blotchy and tear-stained, the skin around her eyes swollen and puffy; one of her twintails was loose, while the other had all but come undone. She tugged at both scarlet ribbons until the messy bows flowed apart, and combed her fingers through the worst of the tangles, smoothing them down.

Then she separated the pink hair into whip-tight twintails and tied them off with bright, even bows.

She had work to do.

 

***

 

As evening wore into night, and another pass around the room failed to yield any trick walls or secret trap doors, Madoka decided to get some sleep. Any cleverly hidden exits would only get harder for her to find if she kept on like this. Besides, her stomach was growling, and she had no intention of eating any of Homura's food. Sleep seemed the only viable distraction.

Madoka couldn't remember ever being scared of the dark. It was only thanks to family stories that she knew she had thrown a fit at age three during a family vacation where the hotel room had no nightlight. The next day, she had skipped down the beach and had a day of ordinary fun picking up seashells and making sand castles, oblivious to the fact that her parents were dead on their feet after a night of fractured sleep in a bright room.

So it was without a second thought that she turned off the overhead lights, leaving the room pitch-black except for the pinpricks of blue light on the side of the computer and the softly glowing face of the clock, and climbed into bed with the heap of stuffed animals.

Thirty seconds later she threw herself from the bed and grabbed for the chain dangling from the nearest light, yanking it nearly hard enough to pull it off.

It helped. The shapeless, looming dream-figures grinning at her from the shadows dissolved; the walls stopped closing in. Once again the room was only nightmarish by virtue of being a locked prison buried somewhere under a patch of ground unknown to anyone who might save her.

Madoka crawled back under the covers, pulled them up over her head, and buried her face in Panda-san's fluffy chest, hoping it would block out enough of the brilliance for her to rest.

 

***

**March 26  
Saturday**

Waking found her almost as tired as she had been before sleeping. Not just weary, but burned-out, like an old match. She was also disoriented, vaguely aware that it was later than she usually woke, but it wasn't until she checked the clocks that she realized it was already afternoon.

After gulping a full glass of water and re-tying her hair ribbons, she felt refreshed enough to make a methodical exploration of the room: pausing only to jump at every noise, even the ones that sounded nothing like feet on the stairs.

The discovery of a plastic tray of strawberries among the foods in the minifridge gave her a burst of relief that made her sit down and laugh until her sides hurt. She'd had strawberries at lunch. Homura could easily have seen, and used it as the basis for a last-minute soap purchase, during the time when she was too drugged to remember it anyway.

Okay, it wasn't really funny.

Along with Panda-san, the bed was piled with several other stuffed animals, as different from Madoka's own as the blankets were similar: a couple of soft beige and grey rabbits, a monkey with long floppy limbs, a pink dog, and a black cat that looked like something out of an anime. There were things piled under the bed too, not as cute, but she was gladder to see them: a twelve-pack of toilet paper, a box of tampons and another of bandages, extra soap and shampoo. Even if the police didn't find her for a few days, she could hold out.

The desk's upper drawer held a random assortment of pens, along with the takeout menus, which (she saw now) had all their addresses carefully torn off. The lower drawer had a couple of idol magazines, a yellow notepad, and an unassuming heap of textbooks that she realized with a shudder corresponded to her classes.

The last thing she investigated was the wardrobe, a tall freestanding thing in green-painted wood that matched the bookshelf and bed frame, with a row of outfits hanging neatly inside. Madoka hadn't changed since the day before; she'd shrugged off her jacket, tie, and socks, but the white shirt and skirt of her uniform were starting to get stale from being slept-in. She began paging through the outfits, looking for something simple.

What comfort she had managed to draw from the strawberries evaporated like smoke.

She didn't own any of them, but she _knew_ these clothes. Every single piece was something she had admired while window-shopping, or gone so far as to try on, posing in front of a trifold mirror while Hitomi clapped and Sayaka acted out the motions of a press photographer catching a star on the catwalk.

Had Homura gone on a shopping spree on her behalf? Or...maybe a stealing spree?

How long had she been planning this?

Sayaka's voice came to mind then, as determined as her mother's but not so patient or strategic: _She's evil! Knock her over the head and get out of there!_

She didn't even know where this was. What if they were up a mountainside, or in the middle of some bit of wilderness that she'd never walk out of unaided? Both the wardrobe and the under-bed storage had failed to turn up shoes. She wouldn't last a mile.

_And what if there's a house with a phone right next door? Or Homura has her own phone, somewhere upstairs? Don't get discouraged so easily, Madoka-chan! You never know until you try!_

She knelt in front of the low cupboard for a while, trying to decide whether to keep refusing the food on principle, or eat something in the name of keeping her strength up. In the end she was too nervous to eat even if she'd wanted to. Just staring for too long at a box of crackers made her stomach do a queasy flip.

It was five minutes to six, with no sign of Homura.

The algebra textbook was the largest and heaviest.

Madoka stationed herself against the wall behind the foot of the stairs, and waited.

 

***

 

At six on the dot, the lock clicked and Homura's voice echoed down the stairwell. "Kaname-san? I'm back."

It took all Madoka's effort not to squeak with fright.

"I'm coming down. I have cooked rice with beef and mushrooms, if you want a hot meal."

Madoka held her breath as Homura descended, heeled boots clicking against the stairs. If only she could see a shadow approaching. But the light was all in front of her, fluorescent tubes with lopsided covers humming in the ceiling of the main room, the staircase lit by whatever spillover light crawled its way up.

Strung out with hunger, wired on fear and adrenaline, she cried out the instant Homura rounded the corner and swung the algebra book with all her might—

—and toppled, overbalanced, hands suddenly empty, to fall right through where Homura had been and crash to the ground, nearly banging her head against the wall.

Madoka scrambled to sit up, gasping for breath. Homura, graceful and unruffled, watched with unreadable eyes from a few steps away. She was holding, not a plate of food, but the textbook.

"You can't hit me," said Homura. "Though I don't blame you for trying."

From this vantage point Madoka had a clear shot at the open doorway. Her eyes flickered from Homura to the top of the stairs and back again, calculating how quickly she could run while breathless, whether the high ground would give her enough advantage to keep Homura back if she clung to both railings and kicked....

"Kaname-san." Homura didn't raise her voice; she didn't have to. There was a sharpness to it that grabbed all Madoka's attention. "I told you I would be back at six. Was I right?"

"Y-yes," said Madoka, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"The next thing I'm going to tell you is that you cannot make it out that door, any more than you can hit me. It'll be easier for you if you believe it."

"You said you brought food," stammered Madoka. "You weren't right about that."

Homura took two steps backward and pointed.

Cautiously, unwilling to surrender her dominance of the foot of the stairs, Madoka got up on her knees and leaned around the wall. Sitting on the desk was a plate with a rice dish, still steaming.

"How...?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet. You wouldn't understand. Aren't you hungry?"

"N-no," said Madoka, in the same moment as her stomach decided to growl.

An ice sculpture couldn't have been stiller.

In the silence, Madoka was terrified she'd crossed a line. The half-recalled dream-Homura flooded back into her mind (teeth bared, screaming). She'd changed once; there was no reason her personality couldn't shift again, maybe this time to something unforgiving and vengeful.

But when Homura spoke, she only said, with matter-of-fact coolness, "Because you're afraid I've poisoned it, or because you don't feel like rice right now?"

How could she _not_ be afraid, after Homura had drugged her once already? Did she dare to say so?

"I'll eat some first," said Homura. "If you like."

When her stomach rumbled again, Madoka nodded.

Homura turned without a second look and went to the cupboard. When she knelt to get a plate, Madoka noticed that her lavender skirt was torn in the back, as if something had ripped away a swatch of the fabric. Of the twin tails of the bow tied at the small of her back, one was long and purple and ended with a neatly-sewn black pattern, while the other was a foot shorter and stopped abruptly in a ragged mess of threads. Had the damage been there all along, or had it happened while she was out?

If the mishap had fazed Homura, she didn't show it. Cool and methodical, she poured two glasses of juice and spooned a handful of the rice onto the second plate. Madoka considered trying to bolt while she was distracted; the thought made her arm start to throb again where she'd banged it on the wall. Better not, at least not now. A failure might drive Homura away before she'd proven the food.

With perfect posture, Homura knelt in front of her and said, as calmly as if she had met Madoka for lunch at a sunny café, "Itadakimasu."

"Itadakimasu," echoed Madoka out of habit. She certainly wasn't grateful.

Homura ate slowly but without hesitation. The heady scent of sauce and mushrooms summoned Madoka's appetite back with a vengeance; she had to sit on her hands so they wouldn't lunge at the other plate ( _her_ plate). At last she allowed herself to take the nearly-full cup of orange juice, drinking it as slowly as she could manage.

"I can take that upstairs," said Homura, as Madoka tipped the cup backward to swallow the last few drops. "When I'm not here, you can leave dishes on the cupboard, and I'll pick them up when I come down."

Madoka handed over the cup and sat placidly while Homura, arms full, walked past. For the first time she noticed that Homura's dark purple boots, which had stayed on through the entire encounter, had the narrowest heels Madoka had ever seen, higher than all but the fanciest in her mother's closet.

When Homura was a third of the way up the stairs, Madoka launched herself after.

Desperation overcame her usual clumsiness. She got a solid fistful of Homura's ragged skirt, yanked hard and true with nearly her full weight, and managed not to tumble back herself as Homura toppled in a frenzy of flying plastic and dark hair. Energized by the power of orange juice, she leaped up the next length of steps—

—there should have been a crash; there wasn't a crash—

—the door was open one second, and closed the next.

Momentum carried her the rest of the way; dismay sapped her energy, so that she sagged against the closed door like it was her mother's embrace after a long day. Looking down the stairs told her only what she had already been sure of: that there was no Homura, and no dishes, in sight.

"Akemi-san?" she said out loud, voice small.

No answer. Homura hadn't even waited outside the door this time.

 

***

 

On the top sheet of the notepad, Madoka laid out the grid of a simple calendar. Kanji over each column for the days of the week, with two rows of numbers underneath: this week, and the next. The dates up to the present were crossed out; the date of her capture was circled. She could do the same with the day of her escape, or rescue, when it arrived.

The smell of the rice dish should have faded as it cooled. Judging by the reaction of her nose, it had only gotten stronger. She ought to throw it out. Instead she retreated to the bathroom, shutting the door (it didn't lock) and taking down her hair to give it a thorough brushing.

The pink soap lay mockingly in its dish. Madoka turned her back on it.

"I'm not t-taking anything from her," she said out loud. Uncertainty and smallness echoed off the tiles. "She can't decide to keep me here then start slipping me treats like a pet. She c-can't! It's wrong!"

 _You tell 'em!_ cheered her inner Sayaka-voice.

But she was already so gnawingly hungry....

Sayaka let out a squawk of fury. _Give up? My Madoka-chan? Never! I didn't let Kamijou-kun give up, and he was a lot worse off than you, so don't you dare!_

The inner voice of her mother came to the rescue. _Think about it strategically, dear. If you take a stand about not eating her food, will it help you get out any faster? And on the other hand, if you get weak from hunger, won't that make it harder for you to fight back?_

It was a good point. Maybe it wasn't just her normal clumsiness that had made Madoka's physical efforts all miserable failures so far.

 _You have to pick your battles,_ as her mother would say. _It's better to take a conscious and planned fall than to waste all your energy on a symbolic stand, only to eventually be forced to give up in despair._

It sounded pretty good. Even if, between the lines of the straightforward words, it harbored the spectre of being trapped for far longer than a week.

Although she would be going to bed right afterward, Madoka redid the bows on her twintails before emerging into the main room. A quick search of the cupboard turned up plastic chopsticks, a sheaf of napkins, and another cup, which she filled with water from the sink. Laid out on the desk between the sleeping laptop and a couple of pens, it looked like a paltry excuse for a meal, but it was what she had.

"Itadakimasu," she said politely to the empty room.

Once the first bite touched her lips, all concern for politeness vanished. She ended up wolfing it down, too ravenous to care that it was cold; only after swallowing the last mouthful did she realize that she hadn't even noticed how it tasted.


	3. If I write Mama a letter....

**March 27  
Sunday**

On the second page of her notebook, Madoka started a set of columns, labeled "Do Shower" and "Do Not Shower."

In the "Do" column she jotted "I will feel better if I am clean," "Not showering won't get me out any faster," and "There is not much ventilation in here." Facing these under "Do Not" were "Strawberry soap" and "Unlike food, showering is not an essential" "Perhaps the smell will keep Homura away."

She chewed on the pen for a moment, then crossed out that last item and added to the "Do" column: "If the smell keeps Homura away, I will have fewer chances to talk sense into her."

After all, Homura didn't seem evil. Crazy, yes, but there were all kinds of treatments for that, weren't there? And there were some disorders that got worse for a while and then better again. If Homura was having an episode like that, she might start to come out of it on her own. If Madoka could urge her in that direction...promise not to get her in trouble if she would agree to see a doctor....

If only she had some kind of special talent for psychiatry! Or anything else, for that matter. That might be the strangest part of Homura's delusion: the idea that a completely ordinary, unremarkable girl like Madoka would be the target of some kind of danger.

Another idea struck her, and to the "Do" column she added "My family will be less worried if I am clean and healthy-looking when I am found." She had vague images of news stories comparing the "before" images of kidnapped children, eyes bright and faces round with smiles, to gaunt "after" pictures with stringy hair and sullen, haunted expressions. It wouldn't get so bad after only a couple of days, of course, but the less she put Mama and Papa in mind of those nightmares, the better.

So there it was, laid out on paper in plain Japanese: a five-to-two tally in favor of showering. Even if her gut still twisted at the first "Do Not" item, at the thought of using more of that stalkerish soap, much less of putting on one of those perfectly chosen outfits afterward.

Madoka looked over the list one last time, then tore the page out of the notepad and took it with her into the bathroom. It floated in shreds on the surface of the toilet bowl while she took a brisk shower, its pieces slowly softening into pulp. When her face and body had been thoroughly scrubbed she stepped out onto the tiles, wrapped a fluffy towel around herself, and flushed.

 

***

 

The knock on the door echoed down the steps, nearly startling Madoka into falling off the bed. "A-Akemi-san!" she stammered, scrambling to the foot of the stairs.

Homura stood at the top of the steps, silhouetted against the bright light of the room above. If she noticed that Madoka had exchanged the musty school uniform for a blue-and-yellow striped shirt and cutoff shorts, it didn't show on her face. "Kaname Madoka. I can't stay long. Is there anything I need to bring you?"

Madoka's pulse began to race. Had her escape attempts made Homura rethink the idea of spending time with her? Even such a fragile link to the outside world was better than none at all. "W-when will you come back?"

"Tomorrow. At six, the same as today."

"Then, no. I don't need anything."

"All right. Have you looked at the computer yet?"

"Only a little," stammered Madoka. She had checked its clock, made some futile attempts to find an Internet connection, then given up in favor of making herself lunch. Or whatever it was called when your first meal of the day was in the afternoon.

"There's a game on the desktop," said Homura. "Give it a try."

She closed the door without saying goodbye.

 

***

 

After several fruitless rounds of _Kaguya Super Contract Z_ , Madoka's hand began to cramp. She pushed the mouse away and got to her feet, walking a tight circle on the free parts of the floor.

The walk to school had always felt like a chore, and even when it came to getting to the mall or visiting one of her friends, the trip was the least interesting part. Gym had never been her best subject; she had a lot of energy but no coordination, and not much strength or ability to aim. But there was a restlessness eating her now, and somehow she recognized it as a craving for exercise.

One thing had reassured her about the game: it didn't have the spooky connection to her tastes that defined everything else Homura had provided. She liked visual novels with dramatic stories and phone games with pretty interfaces, not complicated strategy games that always made her lose.

At least the premise was kind of cute. Bamboo shoots sprang up around the screen; you clicked them to "Contract" them, at which point they turned into beautiful "Princesses" and could be dragged across the screen to confront the evil "Shadows," which they automatically struck down with "Moonlight." But if a Princess used up all her Moonlight, she became a Shadow herself, and you had to Contract another and move her over to fight it.

She lasted a little longer in each round before running out of Princesses. There didn't seem to be anything else to the game, though, and after the third she lost interest.

In the absence of the game's cheery background music, the silence in the rest of the room began to feel smothering. She paused in her frantic pacing to see if the computer had a music folder, and tried not to be more terrified than usual when she found a neatly organized list of songs by all her favorite idols.

She loaded up an energetic Mars Reiko album, and went back to pacing.

 

***

**March 28  
Monday**

Again Madoka slept with the lights on, covers and stuffed animals stacked over her head to let in air but keep her face shadowed. This time, when she woke, she was drained, but with a plan.

By now she must have been reported missing, and the police would be searching. They'd have to find her soon enough. But that was no reason she couldn't help them along a bit. She would ask Homura to sneak a message to her mother, and even though Homura wouldn't deliver it in person, she would hide within the text a cunning hint about her captor's identity.

All she had to do was figure out how to be cunning.

She tried to remember the way Homura had written her name in class on Friday. "Akemi" was in the characters for "daybreak" and "beauty." "Homura"...that had been in hiragana, right? But you could also write it with the kanji for "heart on fire." Could she work that into a normal letter without sounding strange?

Lying on her stomach on the mattress, she scribbled ideas on the top free page of her notepad, switching between pen and fork to work her way through a slice of the chocolate cake at the same time. Just one slice. Enough to keep her spirits up; not enough to leave her trapped with a stomachache or a sugar high.

 _Just because she's giving you cake, that doesn't mean you should let your guard down,_ warned her inner Sayaka.

 _I'll remember,_ Madoka assured her.

Well before six o'clock, she tore out this page too, hiding it under her mattress. She was filling the next sheet with innocent drawings (space princesses in long gowns, cute magical witches in wide pointed hats) when the knock arrived.

The white and purple uniform looked freshly washed; the jelly-filled pastries in a box in her hand looked fresh from the oven. Homura cut a piece off one and ate it before handing the rest to Madoka. Blueberry. Not her favorite flavor, but still delicious.

"You can sit down if you like," said Madoka shakily, waving Homura to the desk chair and seating herself on the mattress.

With crystalline grace Homura took the seat. Out of the corner of her eye, Madoka noticed along the way that the other girl's skirt and bow had been repaired. Or was this a completely new uniform? Was Homura dipping into a vast collection of identical cosplay outfits?

Madoka licked a trail of jam from the first pastry off her fingers, while Homura set into a rhythm of cutting a bite from each of the others and arranging the remainders on a plate. She seemed completely intent on the task, and it gave Madoka a shock when she spoke without looking up: "Would you like the notes?"

"W-what notes?"

"From class. I prepared a copy of Saturday's and today's notes, and will continue making copies for you, if you want them."

"You're still going to school?" blurted Madoka through her half-chewed food.

"Of course. It would be suspicious if I didn't."

In spite of the spectacle it made, Madoka stared openmouthed. That Homura could have the _gall_ to show her face in front of Madoka's friends the day after locking her up....

She covered her mouth and swallowed, face red. _Be cunning, remember? Ignore it. Act friendly._

"No one would blame you if you didn't keep up with your studies during the month you went missing," continued Homura, oblivious. "But I know you're a diligent student, and the routine might help you feel more comfortable."

The worst of it was, Homura was right. Much as Madoka loved vacations and days when school was canceled due to weather, the idea of skipping existing schoolwork that she was perfectly capable of doing filled her with guilt. "I...I'd like them, yes. Th-thank you."

Until now, she hadn't paid much attention to the shield buckled onto Homura's arm. It was well-crafted for a cosplay accessory, with a polished shine and strange, intricate patterns etched into the surface, but she had assumed it was little more than a pretty prop. When Homura retrieved a thumb drive on a violet lanyard from underneath it, Madoka realized it had some kind of pouch attached. Or maybe the whole inside was hollow: a hiding place, safe from any but the most creative pickpockets.

The lanyard coiled around the USB drive like the tail of a rattlesnake as it slid from Homura's hand onto the desk. "You can copy the files onto this computer," she said, standing up. "No need to hurry. I have plenty more."

"Akemi-san!" exclaimed Madoka, jumping to her feet along with Homura. "Will you do one more thing for me?"

"I told you before. I'll bring you anything you need."

"It's not something to bring me, though. If I write Mama a letter...."

She trailed off, starting to choke up. It could have been a clever strategy to play on Homura's pity, if it hadn't been entirely natural.

"You know I'd have to read it first," said Homura, with what might have been the faintest gleam of sympathy.

"Of course. I won't try to give away where I am! I'll tell her I'm with a friend somewhere!" On a beach, maybe, with a mention of how beautiful the sun over the ocean was at daybreak. "I just...she'll think I've been abducted, or killed, she'll be so scared...and Papa and Tatsuya-kun too...."

With her vision now swimming, Madoka almost missed Homura's nod. "You can write it. Don't say anything at all about where you are, true or not. I'll look at it when I visit you tomorrow, at six. If it needs to be rewritten, I'll tell you why. When it passes inspection, I'll arrange for your family to get it."

 

***

 

Halfway through reviewing the algebra notes, Madoka was struck by the image of Saotome-sensei breaking the news of her disappearance to the class. Hitomi had cried, she was sure. Sayaka had probably laughed it off, and loudly announced that Madoka was probably playing some sort of prank, she'd be back on Monday, no reason to worry, now how about those functions?

A forcefully cheerful appearance was always the first sign Sayaka felt like falling to pieces inside. Her smile when talking about Kamijou sometimes broke Madoka's heart.

The computer screen swam before her eyes. She wrapped herself around Panda-san and stayed there for a while, not moving until well after the brief swell of tears had dried.

 

***

**March 29  
Tuesday**

_Dear Mama and Papa,_

_I know you must be very worried. Please forgive me! I can't say what's going on, but I promise that I am safe and well. I promise to get lots of sleep and eat balanced meals, though I miss Papa-san's cooking already. You can let my friends and Saotome-sensei know that there is nothing to be afraid of._

_When you miss me, please console yourselves with the beautiful family photos on your bureau, especially the one of us playing on the beach at daybreak. And know that I will be back just as soon as I can._

_All my love to you and Tatsuya-kun,  
Madoka ♥_

She read through the letter three times, considering whether it was finally polished to satisfaction, or doomed to be added to the string of crumpled drafts that littered the floor. The question was rendered moot when she looked at the clock. Homura would be here any second.

What had her parents told Tatsuya? Was he old enough to understand what it meant that his sister was missing? His whole world was made up of a collection of simple routines and sweet, uncomplicated understandings. As far as he was concerned, a teenage girl's life of school trips and sleepovers, late nights and holidays, meant that she vanished and reappeared all the time for reasons nobody bothered to explain to him. Maybe he wouldn't be able to recognize that this time was different.

Or maybe, in an effort not to scare him, nobody had told him. Madoka couldn't remember when she had first understood what death was. It might be kinder not to force a little boy into the realization so soon.

Homura didn't arrive with food this time, just a second USB drive, which she placed without preamble on the desk. Madoka thrust the folded slip of paper at her, the gesture oddly like a girl presenting a crush with a love letter. Before Homura could examine it, she blurted, "Akemi-san, please...tell me something. You say I'm in danger, right? Don't I deserve to know how?"

"It's complicated," said Homura without missing a beat.

"So make it simple!" begged Madoka. "I know I'm not as smart as some people, but I'm sure if I tried—"

"Stop that," snapped Homura. Her expression hardly moved, but her voice could have flash-frozen Papa's whole tomato crop. "You are as intelligent and perceptive as anyone I've ever known, Kaname Madoka, and more than a lot of them. Don't you dare put yourself down."

Madoka cringed. "O-okay."

Homura took a deep breath. When she let it out, she was cool and composed once more.

"You've seen that I have certain...powers," she said, fingering the crease of the letter. "That I can transport myself before your eyes."

"Yes." Madoka tactfully didn't admit that, if she hadn't seen it, she would still be trying to tackle Homura every chance she got.

"It's magic."

To her surprise, Madoka found herself nodding with real acceptance. It was impossible. But being solid enough to grab one minute and disappearing the next was also impossible, and magic was as good an explanation as any.

"I'm a puella magi. A soldier in a war that science is powerless to explain. I have other abilities as well."

"Mind-reading?" blurted Madoka. It would explain so much. It would also torpedo her cunning plan.

Homura looked as close to startled as Madoka had yet seen her. "No. But that was a good guess."

 _It was an easy guess,_ Madoka wanted to protest. But Homura might take that as putting herself down, so she bit her tongue and nodded, hoping the other girl would move on.

"The enemies I fight are called witches. They drain the good feelings from the humans around them, and often kill people who stumble into their secret domains, which are called barriers."

"So I...I'm in danger from a witch?"

"No. You're in danger from an even worse enemy. A being called the Incubator."

The way she said the name gave Madoka the shivers. "And what does the Incubator do?"

"I'll explain more tomorrow," said Homura, and opened the letter.

She read in perfect stillness except for the motion of her eyes as they tracked up and down the page. Madoka hardly dared breathe.

Then she said, "There are no photos of you at the beach on your parents' bureau."

Madoka burst into a high-pitched laugh that sounded painfully fake even to her. "W-what are you saying? Of course there is!" she babbled, voice cracking. "You're such a joker, Akemi-san! What would you know about the inside of my house, anyway?"

Homura regarded her so calmly that Madoka had a wild moment of wondering if her frantic bluff had worked. Maybe, just maybe, Homura was so detached from normal human reactions that—

"How can you think of yourself as unintelligent?" said Homura, handing the letter back. "It was a good plan. You underestimated how well I knew your home, but that was a flaw of misinformation, not of stupidity."

Shivering for an entirely different reason, Madoka clasped her hands against her chest, as if by refusing to take the paper she would force Homura to deliver it. She couldn't imagine why Homura was bothering to be kind. The ploy had been obvious, she'd leaped to it too soon and ruined her chances entirely, Mama would stay up until dawn again waiting by the phone while Papa kept having to check himself to avoid crying where Tatsuya could hear....

Homura was still talking. Madoka blinked back tears. "Sorry?"

"Rewrite it," repeated Homura. "I'll be back in half an hour for a version I can deliver."

 

***

 

The final, hint-free rewrite was in sketchier handwriting than its nearest ancestor: the characters slanted badly, and it was only with a fierce effort that none of the ink had ended up smudged. Madoka pulled herself together in time for Homura's return, and prayed it wouldn't take long.

Homura only scanned this letter for a few seconds before tucking it into the hidden pouch in her shield. "Did you play the game, Kaname-san?"

"Game?" stammered Madoka. Was Homura accusing her of trying to play another trick? This letter was clean, it truly was, all she wanted was for it to get to her family....

"The one on the computer." The cartoonish name sounded all wrong in a voice as somber as hers. " _Kaguya Super Contract Z_."

"Oh! Yes, I tried it," said Madoka, wracking her brain for anything that would explain this newfound penchant for small talk. "It was...difficult, I...."

"If you can win it," interrupted Homura, "I'll let you go free early."

Her message delivered, she didn't bother with the charade of walking up the stairs, just vanished on the spot.


	4. She's a puella magi, just as I am.

**March 29  
(Continued)**

Madoka skipped her shower. She ate cake and canned fruit one-handed, never moving from the desk. Her class notes lay untouched beside the computer; she'd have ample time to catch up on those once she finished this game.

After a dozen rounds or so, she had gathered that the trick was to get several Princesses fighting the same Shadow, so you could defeat the ones already on the board without having any individual remaining Princess run out of Moonlight. Simple enough. All she had to do was get the hang of the timing.

She opened a can of iced coffee, then another, the better to stay up late into the night. 

 

***

**March 30  
Wednesday**

The next morning found Madoka with a crick in her neck, a headache pounding behind her eyes, and a piercing sense of shame at the memory of her dismal score.

"What was I thinking, Panda-san?" she moaned, squeezing the stuffed panda's fuzzy paw. From what she could remember of her caffeinated daze, it was a minor miracle she'd dragged herself to bed at all, and where had any of it gotten her? Not even the promise of freedom could morph her into some kind of super gaming otaku overnight.

Did Homura think she was an otaku in the first place? Were gaming skills supposed to help her defend herself against the mysterious Incubator? Or maybe this was all some kind of twisted manipulation tactic, designed to fill her with false hope before driving home how clumsy and unskilled she was.

Somehow, though none of them were cheery prospects, she couldn't believe the last one was true.

Homura had taken the letter to her parents, after all. Even when Madoka had tried to trick her, Homura hadn't lost her temper or arranged some kind of punishment for taking advantage of her offer. And if she believed all along that Madoka was in danger...under the circumstances, she had been downright kind.

Unless she had only pretended to deliver the letter, and threw the paper out as soon as she got upstairs.

"But she seemed so honest," said Madoka weakly, resting her forehead against Panda-san's. For relative values of _honest_ , at least. She had no reason to believe the calm and cool Homura was any less of a fake persona than the shy and anxious girl with glasses who had preceded her.

Hopefully there was a germ of reality to the glasses-girl act, hidden somewhere in that cold-eyed shell. If there wasn't enough left of her to draw out again, Madoka didn't know who else she could appeal to.

Wary of her sore muscles, she dragged herself out of bed and tried to reconstruct the stretching routine they always did at the start of gym class. Right arm across chest, left arm across chest, right elbow over her head, left elbow over her head....

She counted fifteen ticks of the second hand on the wall clock for each, then moved on to leg stretches. Her legs felt strange too, though not sore and cramped the way the bad posture had left her upper body. Not pins-and-needles, either, or any discomfort she could put a name to. If only she could look for help online. Or ask Mama.

Gathering up a fresh round of clothes, including an apple-green tank top and a pair of yellow ribbons, she retreated to the bathroom and settled in for a long, hot shower. As long as she was accepting Homura's gifts, she might as well make Homura swallow the water bill.

 

***

 

As usual, Homura knocked before coming down, and her gait on the steps was nothing special. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner into view, Madoka had to stifle a gasp.

From wrist to shoulder, Homura's entire left sleeve was a mess of holes. The shredded edges were burnt a crisp, curling black, with the uniform around spattered in ash. Her skin itself was unburnt, but dusted with blackness; even her shield had accumulated a layer of soot in its intricate grooves. Only the diamond-shaped jewel on her hand was clean, the gold of its setting reflecting shimmers deep within its violet facets.

"Don't be concerned, Kaname Madoka," she said, walking right past Madoka toward the wardrobe. A stack of folded clothes sat balanced in the crook of her clean arm. "I won."

It was a relief to see her laundered uniform on top of the pile, though Madoka turned pink when she realized there was a layer of underclothes right beneath it. "I can put those away!" she stammered.

When Homura hesitated, it was more like an online video buffering than a human show of uncertainty. "If you like," she said at last, setting the pile at the foot of bed.

"The letter," babbled Madoka, half-falling onto the mattress and scrabbling to pull the outfits close. "My p-parents. How—? Did they—?"

"I placed the letter in their mailbox and left," said Homura flatly. "I was not seen. I have not been back. I do know that, as of this morning, the news of its arrival had reached your friends."

Madoka prepared to bite back her outrage, and found that it had mellowed. If Homura's audacity got her news of Hitomi and Sayaka, she was almost thankful for it.

"Shizuki Hitomi was both relieved and agitated by the information. She advanced the theory that you had run off with a lover, perhaps to settle the issue of an unplanned pregnancy."

A strangled laugh stuck in Madoka's throat. That was Hitomi all over. She wasn't thrilled by the image of herself it suggested, but at least Hitomi wasn't dwelling on fears of her kidnapping or torture.

"Miki Sayaka needed somewhat longer to adjust. She had already taken steps to reconcile herself to what she believed to be your fate. The prospect of renewed hope was...unexpected."

"She thought I was dead?" The idea filled Madoka with a new wave of guilt. It had been hard enough for Sayaka to bear up and stay cheerful after Kamijou's accident; her surface enthusiasm masked a quiet despair that she kept hidden as much as possible, even from her own best friends. To ask her to deal with Madoka's disappearance was bad enough. For her to be convinced that Madoka was lost forever, as impossible to salvage as the use of Kamijou's arm....

"She has made contact with Tomoe Mami." Was she imagining it, or had a new layer of frost permeated Homura's voice? "She has learned of the existence of witches, and the types of person that are likely to become their prey. She believed you to be a witch's victim."

"Tomoe Mami," echoed Madoka. "The one you mentioned before. You said she...baked?"

A silent nod.

"Is she one of the good guys?"

"She's a puella magi, just as I am." Before Madoka could point out that this was ambiguous at best, Homura added in a perfect deadpan, "It would never occur to her to kidnap anyone."

It was only after she had moved on to adding the latest USB drive to the little multicolored row that Madoka wondered whether that had been meant a compliment.

Before Homura could gather up her latest round of dirtied dishes, Madoka burst out, "Akemi-san...."

Homura regarded her evenly, waiting for an answer. Her head was tilted in what might have been polite interest, if the angle hadn't been a couple of centimeters too far. As if she were double-jointed, or otherwise not quite right....

Madoka clutched her school uniform to her chest. "How did _you_ react to the news?"

Her expectations were vague, but hardly high. A clipped, factual summary perhaps, or a point-blank refusal to answer. Homura stalled for a few moments, freezing in that unreadable, mechanical blankness, then slipped a hand under her shield and pulled out something that blew all Madoka's guesses out of the water.

The cherry-red frames settled perfectly on her face.

"S-so she's alive?" stammered Homura, knees and toes turned together, eyes bright. "I'm so glad...Kaname-san was the first person who was kind to me." Shoulders quaking, she crooked a finger under the lenses to rub at her eyes. "I c-couldn't stand it if she wasn't, knowing maybe she would have been safe if I'd stayed with her just a few minutes longer...."

"Stop!" screamed Madoka, burying her head in the pile of clothes and clapping her hands over her ears.

The voice that spoke next was the cold and toneless one. "Is there anything I should bring you tomorrow, Kaname Madoka?"

Madoka shook her head violently back and forth without looking up. She kept her face covered as the dishes clattered and the stairs creaked on the ascent.

 

***

**March 31  
Thursday**

Walking, it turned out, relieved the ache in her legs. Maybe it was just restlessness. She climbed the steps and descended them again a dozen times for the sake of a change in pace, the peppy music from the laptop fading and swelling behind her.

Each time she reached the summit she examined the door with fresh eyes, poking its edges for weak spots that didn't materialize or giving it experimental kicks that got her nothing but bruised feet for her trouble. If only she had shoes. Or something sturdy, like a baseball bat. Or....

It took ten minutes to haul the desk chair up the stairs. Her inner Sayaka cheered her on all the while.

(The real Sayaka and Hitomi would be in English now. Along with Homura, come to think of it. If someone had told Madoka a week earlier that she would desperately miss English class, she would have laughed.)

She rested for a while on the third step from the top, catching her breath with the chair balanced awkwardly beside her. It was a simple design, a plastic frame with a comfortably padded seat and back, set on four rolling wheels on spokes that fanned out from its base. Nothing that looked particularly menacing. But it was heavy. That had to get her somewhere, right?

The chair's spinning setup made it hard to get a balanced grip, and there wasn't much room to swing between the unforgiving masonry walls. At last she planted her feet as steadily as she could (knees over toes, an inner Hitomi-voice reminded her), sucked in a lungful of oxygen, and with a furious battle-cry swung her weapon so that it crashed against the lock.

With a bang and a twist the chair rebounded, wrenching at her arms before she lost her footing and her grip both. The world spun out of control for several gut-churning moments as it thudded past her toward the landing below; the wall tore at her hand when she grasped for a railing that wasn't there, and the concrete edge of a step sliced a line of pain down her calf before she flailed to a stop halfway down the staircase.

Madoka froze, every muscle tense, afraid to disrupt her hard-won stillness.

Far below, over the uninterrupted music, a single wheel whirred helplessly against the air.

Bit by bit, she gathered her limbs back into place and shifted into a mostly-upright position. Nothing seemed to be dislocated or broken, just aching and bruised and badly in need of a comfortable rest, so after a few deep breaths she started a slow crabwalk downward.

The rules made themselves clear as she went along. Don't lean on your right hand. Don't bump your left hip. Pause a lot to rest your neck, so it doesn't pull whatever got pulled in your shoulder.

On flat ground once more, she got to her knees and pushed the chair aside, staying with it long enough to touch the frantic wheel until it stopped spinning.

 

***

 

"Go away!" snapped Madoka at the knock above. She didn't expect it to work, but it felt good to let it out.

At least Homura's strict schedule had given her time to prepare. Her leg hadn't bled long, and a pair of knee-high socks covered the torn skin. A long skirt and a shirt with billowing lavender sleeves hid the rest of the bruises. She was positioned naturally in bed, sitting against the pillows with the notebook propped on her knees, and Homura didn't need to know that she had been resting like that all afternoon.

To her surprise, the stairs didn't creak.

"I upset you yesterday," said Homura's distant voice.

That didn't deserve an answer. If she had done it on purpose, it was a nasty trick to play without warning...and if she hadn't realized how much it would freak Madoka out to watch her change personas in an instant, then it hardly endeared Madoka to like or trust the real Homura. Whichever one that was.

"I've been fighting this war for...a long time," continued the person above. "There are things it becomes hard to remember. How little other people know. How to explain things...slowly."

A thought flashed across Madoka's head: _How to be yourself._

"I'll be back at the same time tomorrow."

_Click._

 

***

 

Time crawled slowly forward. Madoka stared through her neatly penciled two-week calendar without really seeing it.

Of course a feeling of constant danger would do strange things to your personality. How could you be expected to go on acting like an everyday teenage student when there were monsters to fight? Maybe someone like Sayaka could pull it off, the same way she laughed and joked in between throwing herself into a knightly quest for rare music to bring to Kamijou's bedside. But if there was any of the real Homura in the shy, stumbling bespectacled version, how could that be expected to hold up?

Madoka had to feel some sympathy. Even if the actual threat was all in Homura's head.

And what if it wasn't?

After all Madoka had seen, why keep trying to believe that Homura's battle-scarred world wasn't real?

 

***

**April 1  
Friday**

The soreness she had felt the morning after her video-game binge was nothing compared to now.

Conscious every moment of the tenderness in her scraped palm, Madoka started the water in the bath one-handed. She did her stretches as the tub filled up, or tried to. Right arm across chest; something in her shoulder ached, like it would after heavy exercise. Left arm across chest; that felt normal, as long as she avoided pressure to the bruises on her upper arm, and she held the full count of fifteen with no trouble. Right elbow over head pulled an underarm muscle with such a shooting pain that she dropped her arm back to her side almost immediately. Left elbow over head, full count of fifteen.

The room was beginning to fill with steam when she finished. She turned off the tap and fumbled out of her pajamas with her left hand, then rested it on the support bar as she dipped one foot into the clear, hot water.

She missed bubble bath.

In one way it was comforting to have another reminder that Homura's knowledge of her wasn't infinite. Madoka tried to dwell on that. Besides, it was a stupid, silly thing to miss. She wasn't even sure there had been bubble bath in the house when she'd last seen it!

( _And if you get really desperate,_ a small voice muttered in the back of her head, _Homura promised to bring whatever you asked for...._ )

But none of that was the point, was it? At home, if she wished for something that wasn't in the cabinets, she could run out and buy some. What she missed was grass and pavement under her feet, and smiling cashiers wishing her a good day, and the pride of having run some little errand for Papa while she was out. And running into Sayaka or Hitomi along the way, and eating ice cream on the slope by the canal, and _sunshine,_ and....

A sudden throbbing flare of pain on her hip yanked her back to her senses. She'd pushed the worst of her bruises against hard porcelain.

Madoka quickly shifted to a safe position, blinked back tears, and lifted one foot out of the water. Carefully, lightly, she checked the skin on all sides, then moved the examination up the curve of her leg. The scrape on her calf had scabbed over normally, and a thin purple bruise above her knee didn't look too bad. It was tricky to check her right hip without being able to lean on the left one or brace herself with her right hand, but she managed.

The left leg was also mostly fine, with the glaring exception of the lopsided splotching from hip bone to upper thigh. She moved up her torso next, testing her backside by using gentle pressure from her fingers on as much as she could reach.

After some consideration of the room around her, she turned around in the tub so the faucet was at her back and leaned delicately against it. Sure enough, there was extra tenderness low on her shoulder blade, mirroring the lower pain right around...her kidneys? Her stomach? Madoka wished she had more of an idea. All she remembered from the model organs in her fourth-year science class was one of the boys stealing the ketchup-colored plastic heart and using it to chase girls around.

There was a lump on the back of her head, and somewhere along the line she discovered sharp pains in her neck when she craned it too far. No other swelling; no bleeding that she could find. That was a good sign, right? When Sayaka sprained her ankle in gym last year, it was swelling that the doctor looked for first, right?

Madoka sank low in the water, skinny knees protruding above the surface, pink hair floating in clumps around her chin. She just didn't know. Unless she could convince Homura to bring her some first aid books without arousing suspicion, she would have to either tough this out or reveal how she had gotten injured in the first place.

Would Homura be willing to help? Would her unstable captor even take the news well?

She drew in a breath through her nose, blew a stream of underwater bubbles, and hoped.


	5. Can't you just tell me?

**April 1  
(Continued)**

When Madoka held out her raw hand, peppered with ripped skin and jagged scabs, Homura's visage went deathly still for as long as Madoka had yet seen. She waited until Homura was moving again before stammering, "A-and my neck."

"Your neck?" echoed Homura, eyes leaping to her shirt collar. Madoka had picked it carefully: a long-sleeved V-neck, covering all the visible bruises. Dressing while effectively one-handed had been a chore. She had barely done up her twintails before Homura's arrival, and they were already coming loose.

"It wasn't scraped," explained Madoka quickly. "Just sore. I think I might have p-pulled something."

"How did this happen?"

"I...fell." Even to her own ears it sounded weak.

To her surprise, Homura didn't press the matter. "I can check. I'll have to touch you, and you let me know when it hurts." She said it without a flicker of emotion, like someone offering to scan a hard drive or tune up a car.

The office chair had come through all of this mostly unscathed, although one of its wheels no longer wanted to roll. Any attempt to push it forward or backward sent it careening in circles. At Homura's direction, Madoka sat on the plush seat, anchoring the balls of her feet on the cement floor to prevent any incriminating spinning.

She tensed when Homura circled around behind her, long black hair sweeping inches from her face. The path to the foot of the stairs was left clear. Did Homura have an inkling about the true extent of Madoka's soreness, or was this just her usual confidence that she could...magic her way out of here...any time Madoka tried to bolt?

Before Madoka could work anything out, soft fingers caressed her jaw, and she nearly yelped in shock.

Homura's hands froze. "Did that hurt you, Kaname Madoka?"

"N-no. It startled me, that's all," said Madoka faintly.

School and sun and Papa's cooking and Mama's voice had all loomed so large—she hadn't had room even to think about touch, let alone crave it, until Homura's skin pressed against hers. Her entire body seemed to have gone hypersensitive, the better to drink in every possible sensation from that light and gentle touch. A desperate hunger flared up somewhere inside her ribcage.

She dutifully reported the pains as Homura's questing fingers moved down the muscles of her neck. It struck her about halfway down that this was the worst possible position in which to entrust a delusional stranger, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. If Homura wanted to strangle her, it would have happened long before now.

What was the last human contact Madoka had felt? She couldn't remember. One of Sayaka's bone-crushing hugs, no doubt. Why hadn't she paid more attention?

Homura's methodical check-up reached the sweep of her shoulders, the border of her shirt collar. "The search!" cried Madoka.

"What?"

"For me." She was stammering, pulling words from the air in all the wrong order. "Out there. How is it doing?"

"It is...ongoing," said Homura. Bless all the gods, her hands were still warm at the dip of Madoka's neck. "Your friends have each been questioned...as have I. No leads have been found, including on the letter, although a handwriting expert compared it to an example of one of your in-class assignments and judged it to be yours. There has been debate over hiring a private detective. Your mother has taken a leave of absence from her career to remain closely involved with the case. Is there anything else you would like to know?"

Madoka clenched her uninjured hand in her lap. There were an endless number of things, if only she could figure out how to ask them. Of course, Homura might be lying about any part of it...but if she were going to lie, why not try to demoralize Madoka by reporting that the search had given up? "H-how do you know they have no leads? Even if you haven't heard about them...."

"I check the police file on your case every evening. As of last night, they had nothing. If they come close to discovering this place, I will move you." With that, she lifted her hands. "There are no permanent injuries here. I have no painkillers in the house, but can acquire some, if you like."

"Y-yes, please," said Madoka. Kindness, deference, and keeping up the conversation: it seemed to be the best way to encourage the Homura who gave information freely and asked before touching her neck, not the Homura who spoke about drugging her and carrying her to a new prison the way her father talked about picking up extra milk. "Do you really not have...?" She could feel her face heat up just thinking it. "Even for cramps?"

She couldn't tell if Homura was offended or simply frozen again. On pink-socked toes she pulled the chair into a gentle spin, until she was facing her captor. The other girl's expression looked no less like offense than anything else.

"Oh!" exclaimed Madoka suddenly, hand flying to her mouth. "You've been so strong, I completely forgot! You were sick until recently, weren't you? So maybe you wouldn't have...but even then, wouldn't you need something after the surgery?" She winced in dismay as Homura continued not to respond. "Forgive me, Akemi-san! These are such personal questions....you don't have to answer."

"I can show you the reason, Kaname Madoka," said Homura, more slowly than usual. "But it will upset you again."

"Can't you just tell me?"

"I don't know how. And you won't believe me unless you see it."

Madoka clenched her fists in her lap, close to one of the bruises under her trousers. "Then show me, Akemi-san."

The dark-haired girl took a step back, then another. From behind her shield (how big _was_ that trick pocket, anyway?) she produced a knife, short and crude-handled but with a more wicked blade than any Madoka had seen, even in her father's kitchen. Shifting the hilt into her shield hand, she held out her bare hand and drew the metal in a neat slash across her wrist.

It was Madoka's turn to freeze, staring as if hypnotized at the neat line of blood trickling down Homura's pale skin.

Where the knife vanished to she couldn't say, but the hand that hovered over the wound a few seconds later was empty, unless you counted the purple gem fixed to its back. A flash of light sparked deep within the jewel, and before Madoka's eyes the wound sealed up, leaving nothing but a faint red smear to show that it had been there at all.

"It's a waste to do that too much," said Homura. "And it has limits. But it covers the aches and pains of the average well-off person."

 _Spending half a year in the hospital isn't average,_ Madoka thought but didn't say. "Being a puella magi doesn't seem average to me," she said instead.

"It isn't." Homura wiped the blood on the tail of her white waistcoat. "Which is why it's not something I would wish on anyone."

 

***

 

According to the clocks in the room, Homura was gone and back in less than ten minutes. Madoka was ready with a glass of water when the other girl reappeared with a bottle in hand and shook two small red capsules into her uninjured palm. Homura had also brought a broad plastic-wrapped bandage that turned out to be white and slightly moist with something antibacterial; she directed Madoka to lay this across her scraped skin, then covered it with a layer of soft cloth.

Every brush of their fingers against each other sent chills down Madoka's spine. Homura fastened the dressing in place with strips of medical tape that crisscrossed her hand, too intent on her work to notice the discomfort it was causing.

The bottle waited on the floor throughout. Its label had been scratched off, with only a few scraps of its soft underbelly remaining. Once the bandage was done, Homura shook two more pills onto a plate that had been left on the desk, still strewn with the crumbs of Madoka's lunch.

As Madoka got to her feet, Homura capped the bottle. Madoka stared. "Don't I get to keep the rest?"

"I can't let you have too much." The remainder of the painkillers disappeared into the trick pocket on Homura's shield.

A stubborn sulkiness Madoka hadn't indulged since toddlerhood reared up in her. "I'm not a child! I can take my own medicine."

"Have you been taking your vitamins?"

"I...I've been eating well enough," said Madoka uncertainly. A week ago she would have thought being away from her family was a great excuse to eat nothing but sweets. Now, especially after what she'd written in her letter, she was taking pains to keep her diet almost better than it was at home. She'd run through most of the mini-fridge's vegetables, but only eaten two slices of cake. "I never needed extra vitamins before, Akemi-san. Don't you know that?"

Homura didn't respond to the jab. "You were exposed to regular sunlight then. You aren't now. Your body needs help to compensate."

Madoka was at once glad Homura had prepared for that, and horrified at the thought of how many other essential things she might be missing. "I wish you'd told me," she said helplessly.

"Don't say that so casually!" After the tenderness of her hands, the cold tone hit Madoka like a slap. "If you want to wish for something...." She trailed off, gazing at something beyond the jade walls. "...Amy."

"'Amy'? You mean my stray cat?" Maybe Homura meant some other Amy, someone who had no connection to Madoka at all, but at this point Madoka wouldn't have put money on it. "Is she okay?"

"I forgot," said Homura distantly. Her eyes were wide open, the pupils pinpricks, as if her mind had gone some other place with open air and blinding light. "I was supposed to be prepared—"

Madoka found herself holding her breath. _Whatever this is, it's taken her over. If I ran... **now**...._

"She's dead," blurted Homura, stopping Madoka's train of thought in its tracks. Her icy cool was riddled with cracks; the tremulous voice of the _moe_ Homura was seeping through. "I was supposed to fix things. She was hit by a car. I forgot. I knew it was coming and. And I didn't stop it."

"Akemi-san...."

No response. Only the spillage of words, tumbling forth in ever more scattered fragments. "I fix up everything else. The easy things I remember. Kaname Madoka loves that cat and I forget. I couldn't. How many years? Strawberry soap—and I didn't save Amy. A hundred times? This was supposed to be it. Everything prepared. And I failed." Tears pooled on her lashes. "So kind—Kaname Madoka. The cat knew it. And I—"

"Akemi-san!" cried Madoka, grabbing her by the shoulders. Her body trembled under Madoka's hands. "Homura-chan!"

A pale, broken face turned to her, unseeing. "I forgot."

"I know," said Madoka, heart racing. "It's okay."

"The car."

"It's not your fault!"

"I didn't stop it."

"It's okay," repeated Madoka. "I forgive you."

The spell broke. Homura's ragged breathing began to steady; violet eyes regained their focus. The tears didn't fall.

"Strays are always in danger," Madoka continued, aware on some level that she was soothing herself as well. "Even if you saved her from one car, maybe the next day she'd be hit by another. Anyone on the street could have protected her by taking her in, but we didn't. _I_ didn't. She was happier that way, getting treats but having her freedom. She died living the way she wanted to live. You didn't fail anyone."

Homura blinked: once, twice.

Madoka swallowed over the lump in her throat.

"Please let go of me, Kaname Madoka," said Homura quietly.

Too overcome to think of anything else, Madoka obeyed. In the motion, the pain she'd ignored in her bandaged hand shot to the forefront of her awareness; she grabbed her wrist with a gasp, as if it would somehow relieve the stinging pain shooting through her entire arm.

"You need to be more careful." The cool Homura was back, almost: an echo of the stutter lingered. She pointed to the box the tape and bandage had come from. "I will leave this here. Please change the dressing once or twice a day."

"Y-yes, Akemi-san."

Homura's jaw worked. "You shouldn't hurt yourself for my sake," she hissed, and vanished.

Madoka darted to the foot of the stairs, just in case. A closed door harrumphed at her from the top.

Nerves jangling, she made for the bed, then turned on her heel and stumbled to the cupboard. The vitamin pill was bulkier than any she'd ever seen. It took half a glass of water for her choked throat to make it down. It was a testament to her disorganization that she only then noticed the wetness on her shoulder: in a moment of panic she thought it was blood, but no. Her shirt was damp with ordinary water, as if from a cup she hadn't spilled.

 

***

 

Her inner Sayaka-voice was throwing a fit.

Madoka tried to listen in between writing things down. She was back on the bed, the pillows and stuffed animals stacked into something she could lean against, Panda-san cuddled under her arm. The notepad lay propped against her knees; a new list labeled _The Mystery of Homura Akemi_ ran down the page it was opened to. Using her non-dominant hand made for slow going. At least her aches and bruises had muted.

"Vanishes," said one row of skewed characters. "Keeps precise time," said another. "Heals. With jewel?" "Protecting me from Incubator (?)" "Thought she knew about Amy's death." " ~~Psychic?~~ Doesn't react to things I think (mostly)." "Costume repairs itself?" " ~~Trick~~ Magic (?) shield." "Panicked over not saving Amy."

 _That was your chance!_ wailed her inner Sayaka. Madoka could almost hear her friend hopping up and down in agitation. _You could've been out the door while she was still going all blue-screen-of-death!_

"I know," said Madoka out loud. "You don't have to remind me. I _know_."

A low-key classical tune meandered along in the background. She couldn't bear silence, but pop would have been an awful, fraying distraction.

Some realization was hovering at the edge of Madoka's awareness. Bits of the conversation recycled themselves in her head, the key moment buried in them somewhere, dancing just out of reach. She hadn't been the one to mention Amy. So what had set Homura off...?

 _And what's with only leaving you two pills, huh?_ demanded Sayaka. _She's always talking about being on your side, and then she holds out on you! Is she afraid you're gonna overdose or something?_

The pen scored an angry black streak across the page, as Madoka realized that was _exactly_ what Homura must be afraid of.

 

***

**̵̫͍̻̰̬̤̘͎͇̪̗̠͢x͎͇̹̤ͅx̢̛̹͙̜̮̞͓̞̹̲̙͙͍́͝ͅx͎̭̼̲̙̹ͅx̹͙̜̮̞͓̞̥́x͙̘͇̙̬̟̲͇̦̭̳̘̰̠͕̤̦  
d̛̹̻̗̞͓̪̟̗͑̿̈́a̢̼̠͔̼̼y**

_She's watching the world from high in the air, the boroughs of Mitakihara laid out below like a playset._

_The height doesn't frighten her. Neither in flight nor in freefall, she's the dark soul of a mountain, watching from above the clouds while toppled and ruined buildings lie scattered around her feet. An acrid yellow stench rises through the air._

_The city is fragile. She's unshakeable._

_They'll fight her, poor things. Clinging to the crumbling fragments of their homes, rising up out of the rubble, struggling, **living**. She has a vague memory of doing something like that, once. It was so hard. Giving up was so easy. The gnawing black vortex in the pit where her heart used to be doesn't even hurt._

_It's not a hunger. That would imply desire, and it's nothing so conscious, so alive. Inside her is an emptiness so profound that everything else must try to fill it, and can never succeed, and will keep trying regardless until it's all been swallowed up. The city. The nation. The human race. The planet from whose surface she rises. As they collapse one by one, she'll take them inside her, until finally all will be at peace._

_The wind howls._

_Another memory: there was one person whose despair she wanted to ease above all others. If only she could remember how that soul tasted, or see anything as small as an individual human in the flooded ruins below._

_Not that it matters. She's sure to reach them eventually._

 

***

**April 2  
Saturday**

The wall clock said it was past eleven in the morning when Madoka first stirred under the blankets, shivering from a nightmare she couldn't remember.

Saotome-sensei would be teaching history right now. Or, more likely, teaching how social developments in the Meiji period demonstrated that you couldn't put up with a man who criticized a perfectly nice sweater set.

Madoka crawled out of bed, pulled the chain on each ceiling light in sequence, and turned to retrieve the last of the painkillers. They awaited her between the open laptop, its screen black but its speakers still putting out gentle violin arias, and the discarded notepad, nearly all the dates on its calendar crossed out.

A vague image from the dream returned: a bleak too-big sky, mirroring a wide-open space spread out below her. It was like a bad joke: _You think being buried underground is bad? Let me tell you about...._

Though she'd already fallen asleep in her clothes, Madoka climbed back under the blankets without bothering to change.

 

***

 

She didn't talk to Panda-san, or hold imaginary conversations with her mother or Sayaka. Her thoughts churned alone, steady but slow.

A dull hunger eventually dragged her out of bed, but the dark stains visible under the cloth on her hand compelled her to open the first aid kit before touching any food. Picking off the tape was a rhythmic and surprisingly soothing task. She barely winced when the bandage was peeled back from the raw-but-healing skin, and applied its replacement automatically.

Nothing in the fridge or the cupboard looked appealing. She gulped down a vitamin pill with the help of a glass of fruit juice, then soldiered half-heartedly through a packet of seaweed crackers.

At half past five, she tossed her crumb-strewn clothes in the hamper, doing a double-take when she realized it was empty. Had the laundry vanished at the same time as Homura did, and been gone all day? She hadn't noticed.

_What if she's not teleporting at all? What if she just moves faster than the eye can see? Or...pauses everything else, like a video, and rearranges things before she starts playing it again?_

She ended up in a light red sundress, over a pale-purple shirt with puffed sleeves. The bruising on her thigh before the skirt covered it looked much less angry, while the one still bared on her knee had faded to a yellowed smudge. She settled on plain white socks that didn't rise far above her ankles. If Homura noticed what remained of the bumping and scraping, let her.

At a quarter to six, she finished brushing her hair one-handed, and, working slowly enough to accommodate her sore shoulder and bandaged hand, did up her twintails with lavender ribbons.

She was standing at the top of the stairs when Homura's voice came through the door: "Please wait for me downstairs, Kaname Madoka."

Madoka took a deep breath. "Why do you get upset about wishes?"

Silence.

"Go down the stairs," said Homura at last. "and I'll tell you. I promise."


	6. You said you'd be here. You promised!

**April 2  
(Continued)**

"Why do you want to know about wishes?" demanded Homura, heels clacking on the steps at her brisk descent. "Has someone been talking to you?"

"Akemi-san, I've been _here_ ," said Madoka plaintively. "How could anyone talk to me?"

"Answer the question!"

Madoka stepped back from the foot of the stairs to make way. "There's nobody else. I guessed on my own. When you got...upset...." Was there any delicate way to refer to the episode? And too much detail might set Homura off again. "...it started when we talked about wishes."

Homura waved for her to sit down. She produced a flash drive and tossed it carelessly onto the desk, her aim perfect though its trajectory barely missed Madoka's head, then sat on her heels across the rug from Madoka and held up a box of sakura-mochi.

Unbidden, Madoka's mouth started to water.

"The packaging is unbroken," said Homura. "But I can test them anyway, if you like."

"Th-that's okay," said Madoka. Homura probably knew the sweet pink rice balls were one of her favorite foods. A gesture of goodwill, or an attempt to buy Madoka's favor? No way to tell. But surely that didn't mean she couldn't eat them anyway...cautiously.

Homura glanced at her bandaged hand. "Shall I open them for you?"

Madoka flushed. "Yes, please."

She waited in silence while Homura sheared off the plastic wrapping, wondering how long to wait before prodding for more information. Homura peeled back the cardboard flaps one by one, as if she were opening an ancient treasure chest rather than getting through a bit of packing that would be thrown away in a few minutes anyhow. The knees of her stockings, Madoka realized, were scraped: the fabric turned to ragged threads, though the skin underneath looked fresh. Between the high socks Homura had worn with her school uniform and the omnipresent diamond-patterned tights of her costume, this was the first time Madoka had seen her knees.

Their fingers brushed when Homura finally handed over the sakura-mochi. Madoka felt instantly guilty that she would have traded the whole box for another minute of human touch.

"Wishes are the bait the Incubator uses," said Homura, without preamble. "The deal he offers is for one wish. Anything you can imagine, you can ask for."

Madoka still didn't know what the Incubator looked like, and had no idea how to picture something that powerful. An image flashed across her mind, a high dark mountain encircled with screaming winds. She shuddered. "Is he really that strong?"

"He's not strong at all," Homura hissed. "His victims are the ones with the power; he only knows a trick to unlock it. And while every wish has a cost, he's never the one to pay it. He doesn't even explain it."

She didn't elaborate. Madoka nibbled on a rice ball and wondered if this was supposed to be her cue to ask.

"He's a deceiver with a silver tongue." Homura seemed to be talking to herself now, or rehearsing lines from a half-forgotten play. Her eyes were focused on something far from the little room. "He's seduced the brave and the wise, the strong and the pure-hearted. Especially since he comes to them at times of tragedy, when need is stronger than good judgment." Still looking away, she continued: "You know something of that now, Kaname Madoka. If a small figure had appeared to you the first night you were here, and offered you a deal to get home, how many questions would you have asked?"

"Maybe none," admitted Madoka. "But, Akemi-san...."

Homura went silent, waiting for her to proceed.

"You say the Incubator is evil because he offers false choices," stammered Madoka. "But you didn't even offer me a choice at all."

The other girl tensed. "The choice is between living and dying. I already know which you would prefer."

"If you're sure of it, then why not ask me honestly?" Her leg was starting to ache from the way she was sitting on it. Ignoring the dull throb, she pressed unsteadily on: "I was ready to spend time with you when we first met, remember? I had no reason not to trust you. You could have showed me your powers, warned me right away...."

"...and held your broken body in the wreckage of the battle feeling glad because at least my hands were clean?"

The razor's-edge behind her voice made Madoka shut up.

When Homura continued, the bitterness had softened, but not vanished. "Your life is not worth throwing away for the sake of my moral high ground. Even though I've promised to release you when the time is right...can you honestly tell me, Kaname Madoka, that you would not still be tempted by the chance to return to your family this moment? No matter what the price?"

Madoka's chest tightened with the effort of not blurting _yes_. "Y-you still haven't told me the Incubator's price, Akemi-san."

"He takes your soul," said Homura flatly. "You are left with nothing but the magic awakened by your wish. From then on you have no destiny except to wage a secret war alone, until you are killed in battle or too worn-out to die a human death."

 _Left with magic...._ "Akemi-san...you...?"

Homura inclined her head in an almost modest nod. "I made a wish. I became a puella magi. For me, there is no future any more."

"It isn't right!" burst out Madoka. ( _It might all be a trick to win your sympathy,_ pointed out her inner Mama-voice. Looking at Homura's lacerated stockings, she pushed it aside.) "You shouldn't have to give up. No matter what's happened. You should have friends to believe in you even when you can't...to help you make things better...maybe to find out how to stop the Incubator...! There are other puella magi, right? You're all on the same side...I don't see why you couldn't...."

Homura took in Madoka's heaving shoulders, the clenched fingers of her uninjured hand and the hot tears blurring her vision, and said without blinking, "All of my friends have died."

In spite of herself, in spite of everything, Madoka tried to take Homura's hand.

"I'm sorry, Kaname Madoka," whispered Homura, and vanished without waiting for a reply.

 

***

 

Steam rose from the rapidly filling tub, fogging over the mirror and soothing her puffy, sore eyes.

Madoka did a halfhearted round of stretches. Right arm across chest...left elbow over head...lean forward on right knee...hold up left leg behind back...had she gotten them all? Probably. Did it matter? Was it even a school day?

A sudden lack of time-sense made her dizzy. She burst out of the bathroom in nothing but underwear, ignoring the tiled floor cold and rough against her bare feet, and didn't catch her breath until the grid of the notepad calendar filled her vision. Saturday. Right then.

With trembling hand she inked in another row of dates, urging herself not to panic at how long the calendar was getting. They didn't have to represent days down _here_ , after all. They were simply dates she planned to go through, even after she got out.

Still, she tore her gaze away almost before the last stroke was scratched.

 

***

**April 3  
Sunday**

When she unwrapped the next round of bandages, Madoka found her palm sore and tender, but no longer prone to fresh bleeding at a wrong turn. Panda-san, flanked by the two rabbits, watched from the bed as she massaged lotion into it, then left it in the open air.

The panda was next in line for medical care: a patch of his soft white fur had gone stiff with salt where she had cried into it the night before. After rereading the instructions on his tag, Madoka wet a spare sock under the faucet, sat on the closed toilet, and dabbed until the stain as tenderly as she would have one of Tatusya's skinned knees.

 _I still don't trust her,_ grumbled her inner Sayaka. _Her story's too neat. She played you too well._

Madoka didn't answer.

 

***

 

She was sitting up in bed when Homura came down the stairs, reading through an assigned chapter in the science textbook. It didn't make a lot of sense. There were probably explanations on one of the flash drives she hadn't gotten to yet.

Instead of fresh food, Homura carried a garbage bag, into which she emptied the trash can in the main room before stepping into the bathroom and disappearing briefly from view. When she returned, the garbage bag was nowhere to be seen.

"Is there anything you need, Kaname Madoka?" she asked.

Madoka kept her gaze fixed on her book. "I...I don't know."

The answer seemed to flummox Homura. "Do you have...more questions?" she tried. "Is there some food you're running low on? Can I bring you anything?"

"I would like more sweet potatoes," admitted Madoka.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Homura's nod. "I will bring some tomorrow. Is there anything else?"

 _Go away,_ thought Madoka desperately. _I don't know what's right any more. I can't trust my own feelings. You confuse them too much._ "No."

Homura didn't leave. "The Incubator has approached your friend. Miki Sayaka. She is tempted. There is someone for whom she believes she could sacrifice anything."

That had to be Kyousuke. Madoka hadn't known him that well, but Hitomi had taken a lot of music classes with him before the accident, and Sayaka had been a friend of his since childhood. Ever since he'd been in the hospital, Sayaka was doing everything she could to be the boy's knight in shining armor. It was easy to imagine her spending a magical wish for his sake, even if she knew the full price up front.

"I will watch out for her as best I can," said Homura.

 _Don't thank her!_ wailed the inner Sayaka. _I can take care of myself!_ Obediently, Madoka settled for a silent nod.

"You are...a kind person." The dark-haired girl was nearly stammering now. How genuine it was, Madoka hadn't the faintest idea. "It can make you...vulnerable...but it's your best quality."

When Madoka said nothing, Homura turned to go, taking the stairs on her narrow heels again rather than evaporating. Madoka dug the fingers of her good hand into the beige rabbit's stuffed head so hard they turned white, and bit her tongue until she heard the door shut.

 

***

 

**April 5  
Tuesday**

The book hit the wall with a smack and dropped to the ground, pages flapping.

Madoka stared at it, breathing heavily, only half understanding what had just happened. Of course her arm had thrown it, but it might as well have flown across the room under its own power for all the control she had felt. One minute she'd been staring at Homura's notes and realizing they weren't detailed enough to help, and the next, _wham!_

A powerful urge to apologize washed over her...followed by a wave of disorientation. Who was she imagining she'd apologize _to?_

On impulse she grabbed her most recent plate, still streaked orange from its cargo of freshly diced sweet potatoes, and sent it arcing like a Frisbee across the room. It bounced off the doorjamb of the bathroom, dinged the door itself, and spun wildly on the cement where it touched down.

What did it matter? Who _cared?_ Nobody would expect her to keep pace with classes while locked in this ghoulish pseudo-bedroom of a time capsule. The only person who might take notice was Homura, and even tearing these rooms apart couldn't make her nearly as upset as everything she'd done to Madoka. There certainly was no reason to respect the rooms themselves. Madoka hoped they were filled with dirt as soon as she got out.

She leaped for the discarded textbook, grabbed half a dozen pages, and tore them from its spine with a satisfying rip. Another handful came out, and another. Balls of crumpled paper went flying through the air like popcorn. She swatted at a few that landed near her, using the spine of the book as a makeshift bat, then slung the whole thing aside without caring where it landed.

It helped. It felt _real_. More real than she had felt in...oh, much longer than a week. Maybe ever.

Stuffed animals landed too softly, though she got a few good whacks out of gathering the monkey's floppy limbs in her fist to make a button-eyed club. The first item in the fridge she got her hands on—a head of lettuce—sailed like a lumpy bowling ball and thudded happily against the green walls. Snatching it up, she raced to the top of the stairs and enlisted gravity's help in her wild, impromptu game.

By the time she exhausted herself, her twintails had come loose long ago. One lavender ribbon lay discarded midway up the steps, while the other still clung valiantly her shoulder. She yanked it off, tossed it aside, and stumbled down to the bed, shaking with manic laughter until her breath caught and her eyes watered, hair flying free across the pillows.

 

***

**April 6  
Wednesday**

Homura stepped over a trail of wilted lettuce shreds without comment.

Madoka lay on her back on the mattress, still in the previous day's clothes, one of the untouched idol magazines unfolded over her face. She didn't move until an unfamiliar squelching noise, followed by a cascade of water, caught her attention.

"Don't bother," muttered Madoka, while Homura mopped up smeared sweet potatoes. (She wasn't carrying a bucket. Where had all that soapy water come from?) "Doesn't matter. It's not worth it."

"You are always worth it, Kaname Madoka," said Homura flatly. "If you feel sick, please tell me."

Madoka closed her eyes.

 

***

**April 8  
Friday**

Nothing was important enough to drag her out of bed. Nothing in this room could be worth bothering to leave the comfort of her blankets and the soft embrace of the few stuffed animals she hadn't trashed.

Nothing...except that the computer had looped this playlist six times in a row.

Madoka kicked off the blankets, brushing away crumbs from the sweet bun she'd had by way of breakfast. As long as she was getting up anyway, she should probably shower, right? The air was so stuffy in here already, it was going to be unbearable if she didn't. And a shower wouldn't be less soothing than a warm bed, just different. And....

The music program clicked back to the first song. Madoka barely noticed. Her attention had been arrested by the corner of the screen.

Homura was four minutes late.

Madoka's heart began to race. She felt dizzy, her throat choked. _It's only a few minutes,_ she thought firmly. _It's fine._

In spite of her insistence, the walls and ceiling refused to stop closing in.

She pushed the chair off toward a corner and sprawled out on the floor, stretching her arms and legs to their fullest extreme. "There's plenty of space," she said out loud. "Look at it! Feel it! It's the same as ever. More than enough, see?"

The lightheadedness began to recede.

"She's probably stopped for a pastry somewhere," continued Madoka. Talking to herself felt a little embarrassing; she sought out Panda-san's ears poking over the edge of the bed, and addressed the rest of it him. "Or someone who isn't very bright asked her for directions."

Unwilling to try standing just yet, she crawled across the floor to the mini-fridge.

"Or maybe the police took her in for questioning," she went on, pouring herself a glass of cold water. "They could be getting clues about me right now! Maybe they'll be here as soon as tonight. I have to look strong and happy when they find me, so they won't be too hard on Akemi."

The stuffed panda's eyes twinkled at her, as if to say, _I don't want you to leave. There are enemies out there._

"Sayaka knows Tomoe Mami. I'll ask for her help," resolved Madoka. "I'll tell her all about the Incubator. And I will absolutely not make any wishes. As for witches, well, they've existed all my life, haven't they? I won't be in more danger than anyone else."

And if a witch was the reason Homura was late...?

"The fight could be taking a bit longer than usual." Madoka tried not to picture the assortment of holes, charring, and damage she'd seen on Homura's costume. "She'll still win in the end, of course. She always does, eventually."

And if—

"I'll be fine!" shouted Madoka. Her voice rang around the too-small room. "There's fresh air, unlimited water, plenty of food! She's only six minutes late...when she could go missing for days and I still wouldn't _starve_...."

The cup slipped from her shaking hands. Water spilled across the floor, burbling along the dips in the cement until it reached the edge of the throw rug. A dark spot began to soak into the fabric.

A brief but vivid image descended like a smothering blanket: her fallen body on that same floor, injured and with no help on the way, blood flowing across the ground and staining whatever it met. The dainty replica of a girl's bedroom turned into a luxury coffin.

Her sight returned just in time to watch the second hand sweep past the seven-minute mark.

With an incoherent whine, Madoka splashed through the puddle and clambered up the steps. The relative darkness here made the passage feel twice as narrow, but when she splayed her hand against the door, it calmed her like a talisman. No matter that she couldn't see it—the sunlight and birdsong and wide-open spaces were _there_.

She collapsed against the cold iron, breathing, listening.

Without a clock to march it along, time dragged its heels, maybe stopped altogether for all she knew.

And then: creaking boards, footsteps.

"Hello?" croaked Madoka. She gulped and tried again, a proper shout this time, while pounding on the door. "Hello! I'm in here! Please, come over here...."

The footsteps got louder....

"Kaname Madoka," said the muffled voice of Homura. "Please move away from the door."

"You're late!" screamed Madoka, fists clenched against the metal as she quaked. "You said you'd be here. You promised! You have no right to keep me here if you're going to abandon me!"

Homura had to raise her voice to be heard. "I'm truly sorry. I was...delayed. It was not avoidable. I dealt with the problem as quickly as I could."

"And what if you can't deal with the next one, huh? What if next time you _die?_?"

"If I am incapacitated for more than a day, a message explaining your situation will be sent to several puella magi of my acquaintance. Whatever they think of me, they will not hesitate to retrieve you."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" wailed Madoka.

Homura's reply was slow in coming. "Please go downstairs. I am carrying something for you. I will explain as much as I can after I am able to put it down."

Still trembling with fury and relief, Madoka made her way to the foot of the steps. She refused to retreat any farther. She _would_ see that sliver of the world visible through the open door, if only to assure herself that it was still there.

The lock clicked, the light poured in, and all other thought flew from Madoka's mind.

Homura descended cautiously, mindful not to let the body over her shoulders knock against the wall.

"Sayaka-chan!"


	7. You can't forget that that's wrong!

**April 8  
(Continued)**

If Homura was glad to see Madoka moving around like a sane person again, she didn't show it. She went straight for the bed, where she laid out her unconscious blue-haired burden while Madoka ran for a damp cloth.

Sayaka was in her school uniform: mussed and shoeless, but otherwise intact. Her daffodil-colored hairpins had loosened, tugging awkwardly at the shaggy locks they clung to. Madoka pushed a few stray bangs out of Sayaka's face, draped the folded cloth over her forehead, and set to easing out the pins without breaking too much hair in the process. "W-what happened, Akemi-san? Is she going to be all right?"

Homura sank into the desk chair, a tightness around her eyes the only other sign of weariness. "This is her first lesson in what it means to fight as a puella magi. There are no serious injuries. She will recover quickly."

Only a rusty sense of propriety kept Madoka from starting to check all over Sayaka's body. Nothing could stop her from looking. _Sayaka._ Her own Sayaka, hair blue as a summer sky. "A witch did this to her?"

"No."

"Was it...the Incubator?" Two fingers on Sayaka's neck—after some fumbling for the right spot, she found a steady heartbeat. It should've been criminal how good that felt.

"No. And yes." Homura stood. "It all comes back to him eventually."

"I don't understand," said Madoka faintly.

Homura didn't seem to hear. "I'll get more things for her," she said distantly. "A toothbrush. A bedroll. You'll have to tell me what food she likes. I didn't plan on bringing Miki Sayaka here, but it's manageable. At least she won't die. You always hate to see her die."

Her slip of the tongue, as if Sayaka had already expired there on the bed, gave Madoka chills.

"Is there anything you need right now?" Homura paused. "If anything important...was destroyed...I can replace it."

Madoka flushed, painfully conscious of the paper all over the floor, the broken book and wilted head of lettuce and other victims of her pathetic attempt at a rampage. "N-no. It's fine."

"She'll want to talk to you alone," Homura went on. "If either of you needs anything during the night, write it down and leave the list on the top step. I'll check every hour, on the hour, until school begins, then visit in the afternoon as usual."

Madoka nodded, unable to drag her gaze away from Sayaka's face. Either her memory already begun to fade during her time here, or she had never before appreciated how larger-than-life her friend was, even in sleep. Speaking of which..."When will you sleep?"

Homura shrugged. "I'll manage."

 

***

 

Sayaka stirred or huffed in her sleep several times without waking. Madoka, frantically brushing her hair and splashing water on parts of herself, jumped each time. When her friend began to stretch, she bolted to the side of the bed and held her breath, waiting to see if this was another false alarm.

At last Sayaka yawned widely, rubbed her eyelids, and blinked at her surroundings. Her eyes went wide when they fell on Madoka. "Mado...ka?"

Over the lump in her throat, Madoka nodded.

"Is this another dream...?"

"Sayaka-chan..." whispered Madoka, both bandage-free hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I know it's selfish, but...I'm so glad to see you...!"

With slow, dreamlike motions Sayaka sat up. "It worked," she breathed, an awed grin spreading across her face. "It worked! Madoka, it's okay. You're saved! I've got so much to tell you, you have no idea...come here, come here!"

Madoka didn't hesitate for a second before flinging herself into Sayaka's arms.

A startled 'oof' told her she'd leaped harder than expected. But if there was any discomfort Sayaka shrugged it off, wrapping her in a real, crushing, full-body embrace.

It wasn't like the teasing, pouncing cuddles the other girl had foisted on her as recently as the day she went missing. Those were as much about the fun of freaking out Hitomi as anything else, and brash Sayaka could have done the same to anyone in reach who looked likely to put up with it. This hug wouldn't have been granted to just any passerby. Madoka heaved nearly-dry sobs against Sayaka's chest, while Sayaka held her like a mother, rubbing her back and stroking her hair and rocking the pair of them gently back and forth.

"Shh, Madoka," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Madoka's head. "It's going to be fine now. I've got you."

 

***

 

Sooner or later Madoka would have to pull herself together. Sayaka had no one else to count on, and Madoka, for all her lack of other talents, was the closest thing here to an expert in being a prisoner.

She could have clung to her friend for hours on end, but all too soon Sayaka blurted, "This isn't your room." Cautiously, as if she didn't trust the evidence of her eyes.

"That's right." Madoka sniffed, rubbing her eyes with a handful of her T-shirt. "It's where I've been this whole time. There's a staircase behind that wall. The door's at the top. L-locked."

"I knew you hadn't run off with some boy," muttered Sayaka. "Wait, how did I get here?"

"Th-the person who brought me here...." She didn't want to say Homura's name; if Sayaka didn't already know, she was afraid of the distraction, not to mention the explosion, it would cause. "They carried you down. Unconscious. M-maybe you were drugged? That's what happened to me."

Sayaka _growled_. Madoka could feel her shaking with fury. "That's it. You're not spending another minute in this place. Stand back. I'm busting you out of here."

The last thing Madoka wanted to do was relinquish the embrace. "You c-can't."

"Watch me."

Encouraged by a kind but firm push away, Madoka sat back awkwardly on the mattress, heart breaking for her friend's certainty. Sayaka didn't understand. Maybe _couldn't_ understand, until she had been here long enough to learn for herself the lessons Madoka had. "I've tried. I really have. There's nothing you can —"

"Oh, there is," said Sayaka with a grim smile. "I'd explain, but you'll never believe me. So I'll just have to show you!" She flung out her hand, palm outward, fingers splayed.

Nothing happened.

Hard, cold fear twisted Sayaka's face. She schooled it quickly into determination, slapping at her pockets before scrambling out of bed. "Madoka, help me out. I had a ring. A small silver ring, with black markings on it. You check the bed, I'll check the floor."

"O-okay," said Madoka, and began feeling through the sheets. "Sayaka-chan...if you dropped it outside, it's lost. At least for now. And it's not really an important thing right now, so —"

"It is important!" shouted Sayaka. She reeled herself in when Madoka cringed. "I'm sorry. But it's the most important thing in the world. It's — you're not going to believe me, but I have these powers. Magic powers. And I can use them to get us out of here, but not without that ring!"

Madoka caught her breath. "It lets you become a puella magi?"

"Yes, I —" Sayaka froze. "How did you know?"

It was all true.

Whether or not Madoka believed them, Homura's tales were as divorced from her life as this world-in-a-bubble that boxed her in. Except for the references to a schoolmate she hadn't known anyway, there was nothing to ground them in anything familiar, no tie with the things she knew and recognized down to her bones as reality. 

And now here was Sayaka—her best friend since third year in elementary school — Sayaka who always stole her extra wasabi sauce, and who could name hundreds of different kinds of fish on sight, and who insisted on watching horror movies at sleepovers but always brought a baseball bat so Madoka could fall asleep feeling protected — rewriting thousands of Madoka's memories in four words, putting them all in the context of _Sayaka who grew up to kill supernatural beings in defense of humanity._

The mattress below her rocked like a boat on the waves.

In an instant, Sayaka was back at her side. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Stay with me," pleaded Madoka.

Sayaka's fingers braceleted her wrists: tightly enough to hurt the tender one, but Madoka didn't flinch, and Sayaka didn't notice. "I told you, Madoka-chan, it's going to be okay. That's a promise between friends. But please, lie down if you need to. I'll find the—I've been calling it my ring, but its proper name is a Soul Gem — on my own. Because we're stuck here until I find it, you see? Don't you want to get out as soon as possible? To keep your parents and Tatsuya-kun from worrying any longer? So be strong for a little while, and after we get to safety, I'll stay with you as long as you want."

"Of course I want to see them!" cried Madoka. "But you won't find it! The person who brought us here is an expert in puella magi. If taking your ring was a way to stop you from transforming, they would never leave it with you."

The look Sayaka gave her was new and strange. From Homura she might not have thought so, but from Sayaka it was too distant, lasted too long. "Madoka? Have you become a...?"

"N-no. I'm still just me."

"Then how do you know all this?" demanded Sayaka, a thin line of anger furrowing between her brows. "Is it related to why you were kidnapped, or is it just coincidence?"

Madoka shrank with guilt. Sayaka had been so proud to be a knowing and confident hero, and here Madoka had the nerve to end up with authority in the very area where Sayaka was supposed to be an expert. "There's something dangerous happening at the end of April," she began. "I...I don't know what, exactly...."

"Walpurgisnacht."

"Wa-ru-pu-ru-gi-su no yoru," echoed Madoka, testing the name on her tongue. _Gears and lace._ "And what is it?"

"It's big," said Sayaka shortly. "Huge. A terrifying thing for puella magi to go through. Not to mention all the innocent people around them."

So she didn't actually know. Well, this was no time for Madoka to push it. "O-okay. So after that's over, I'm supposed to be let go. Until then, this person brought me here to keep me safe." She decided not to mention how Homura had predicted Sayaka's death. It scared her even to think about.

"Do you believe them?"

Madoka shivered.

"Madoka, listen to me." Sayaka cupped Madoka's face between sports-roughened palms. Her eyes burned a serious midday-blue. "It's called Stockholm syndrome. When someone locks you up like this, you lose all perspective and start to believe their reasons are right, no matter how crazy they are. This person drugged you, snatched you off the street, and hid you in a basement somewhere! That's wrong! You can't forget that that's wrong!"

"I know! I promise, Sayaka-chan, I know." _So how much must Homura have gone through, that she's forgotten...._

Sayaka didn't seem reassured. And no wonder, when Madoka was still shaking. "You're white as a sheet, did you know that? I hate to let you go, but there's no time to lose. This lunatic might show up any minute, and I have to find a way out of here first."

Though she was certain Homura wouldn't come down again until tomorrow, Madoka didn't see any chance of convincing Sayaka. And why bother? If Madoka's trust was deserved and not Stockholm syndrome, surely Homura would be able to earn it from a second person without any help. And while the frantic search for a nonexistent way out had only made Madoka anxious, she could see the idea giving Sayaka a sense of purpose. It couldn't hurt.

"You might find a weak point in the room that I didn't," admitted Madoka, slipping out of Sayaka's grip and letting herself settle onto the bed. "You're a lot more tenacious than I am."

Relieved, Sayaka pumped her fist in a triumphant gesture. "Leave it to me!"

 

***

 

While she combed the walls of the room, Sayaka kept up a constant stream of chatter. Madoka had always been the shyer of the two anyway, but in their brief time apart it seemed she had completely forgotten how to get a word in edgewise. Mercifully, she didn't have to ask. Sayaka seemed to know exactly what she wanted to hear.

"Your mom hired a fancy private detective," she explained, while pulling back the desk to poke at the wall and outlet behind it. "Badgered her company into covering most of the cost, too. Claimed it was likely you were kidnapped by business rivals, or maybe someone who's counting on her paying a huge ransom and stealing from the company to cover it. I don't know how much she bought her own story, but she was convincing enough that they swallowed every line."

She moved to the wardrobe, then on to the vent that lay low beside it.

"There's a shrine for you at school — not a memorial, since most people haven't given up hope, but a place to wish you well. One of your family's photos is in the middle of it, and a sixth grade yearbook open to the page with the choir photo, and people leave their own pictures and flowers and ofuda and things. A bunch of the boys have left chocolate. Mostly in secret, but I definitely saw Nakazawa-kun leaving candy hearts! Your secret admirers will be so glad to have you back."

One by one, she cleared out all the boxes from under the bed, shoving them across the floor to crawl in their place. Her voice drifted up from under the mattress.

"Someone else got you a whole bouquet of really fancy flowers. Professionally-cut, in a vase, the works. I looked them up, and it turns out they're dahlias — in French flower language, it means 'forever thine'. And get this: Hitomi swears she saw Akemi Homura leaving them!"

Madoka bounced in shock, the squeak of the bedsprings camouflaging the one of shock that eeped from her lungs.

"Poor girl just about had another heart failure when you disappeared right after her 'date'," continued Sayaka, knocking something against the corner of the room under Madoka's head. "I, um, didn't exactly help with that. I kind of yelled at her. Then I met this girl, her name's Tomoe Mami...you'd love her, Mado-tan. She's an elegant onee-sama type. She's also a puella magi, that's how we met, she saved me from a witch...did the lunatic tell you about witches?"

"They did," admitted Madoka.

Sayaka wriggled back out into the (relatively) open air, brushing dust bunnies from her skirt and cardigan before stripping the latter off, draping it and her ribbon over the back of the office chair.

"Mami-san's been fighting them for a year or so now," she continued, rolling up the sleeves of her collared shirt, already rumpled as if she'd spent the whole day hard at aesthetic-but-manual work. "She and Kyuubei...oh, you'd love Kyuubei even more. He looks he stepped right off your shelf of stuffed animals! Anyway, he's the one you contract with —" (Madoka's heart kicked.) "— to become a puella magi. I wasn't sure I'd do it, but then Hitomi-chan was in danger and Mami-san wasn't around, so I went for it!"

_Kyuubei?_

The laptop bounced unsteadily across the surface of the desk as Sayaka shoved it to one end. "It's so creepy that they would spend all this money on you," she muttered, shouldering the desk itself across the floor until it was directly under one of the lights. "I mean, you're supposed to be a prisoner!" A light hop, and her sock feet were braced on the desktop. "Do the lights work together, or separately?"

"Separately," said Madoka. _About this Kyuubei...._

"Great. That makes this easier." Sayaka yanked the chain and twisted off the plastic covering. "Catch."

With a yelp, Madoka flailed her arms and managed to intercept the plastic...with her elbow. It bounced to the floor with a crack.

Sayaka winced. "Maybe I'd better just hand you this," she said, unscrewing the bulb.

Madoka rose to a wobbly standing position on the mattress, so that Sayaka no longer towered over her any more than usual. Once the bulb was safely in her hands, she sat down as quickly as she could, thoughts racing in too many directions to follow just one. _Those wires look unsafe. What are you planning? When you say 'contract'—_

"Better get under the covers for a minute," ordered Sayaka, and Madoka obeyed. The last thing she saw before the heart-patterned sheet descended was her friend standing on tiptoe to claw at the fixture.

At last, a pause in the conversation, stretching until it was long enough for Madoka to have the nerve to jump in. "Sayaka-chan," she said, hands around the base of the light bulb, "I don't want—"

A crack; a shout; a crash and a thud. Madoka froze.

"I'm okay!" panted Sayaka a beat later, from somewhere near the floor. "You can come out now."

Lifting the edge of the blanket, Madoka found her field of vision Sayaka-free except for what she realized after a moment were two dark-socked heels. She scooted on her knees to the lip of the mattress to find that the chair had interrupted what would have been a fall onto cement. Instead Sayaka's butt was on the floor, arms and shoulders clinging lopsided to the seat cushion, ankles still up over the desk's edge, skirt flipped back to reveal — Madoka averted her eyes. "Don't move. I'll help...."

"Stay right there," Sayaka ordered. "I'll be fine in a minute. No big deal. You were saying something?"

Madoka's mouth worked. "You should have told me...." she said, staring at the blanket around her knees. "We could've put down pillows...I don't want you to hurt yourself for me!"

Piece by piece Sayaka winched herself back to equilibrium: one elbow, then the other, then leg by leg, every motion making the chair wobble as if it desperately wanted to roll away, and creak angrily as if to scold the rug for getting in its way. At last with a grunt she stood, brushed her skirt back into place, and flexed her arms. "Nothing to worry about! I'm tough, see? I can take a lot worse than this."

A sniffle escaped Madoka in spite of herself.

"Hey, hey, Mado-tan. Shh," breathed Sayaka, bending close, managing to look serious in spite of her untucked shirt, the the disheveled frizz of her hair. One hand slipped under a fold of the blanket to touch Madoka's. "Here. C'mere. Touch me. Prove to yourself that I'm...."

Fingers slid over Madoka's palm. This time the rawness didn't go unnoticed.

"Can I see?" said Sayaka weakly.

Madoka held out her hand. In the half-light her friend took her wrist and examined the marks that remained on her skin.

At last Sayaka swallowed and gathered her steel. "I don't want to upset you," she said quietly. "So you don't have to explain if it's too hard. Just answer yes or no, okay? The person keeping you here...have they hurt you?"

"No!" exclaimed Madoka. "I promise, Sayaka, they weren't even there. I tried to break out when I was alone, and I was clumsy about it. They got me bandages and things — this looked a lot worse a few days ago. They helped. Really."

A grimace crossed Sayaka's face, flashing her teeth. "How can you talk so nicely about them? You wouldn't have had to try breaking out at all if they hadn't locked you up in the first place."

Madoka's shoulders slumped. "You're right."

On the pulse point of her wrist, well past the edge of the scrapes, Sayaka's thumb began rubbing gentle circles on her skin. There was grit under her nails, and a blue symbol like an inverted _tsu_ etched on the middle one, but Madoka was absorbed most of all by the warmth of that single point of contact.

"Sayaka-chan?" she whispered. "Is Kyuubei's name an alias? Or...a nickname for something?"

"Dunno," said Sayaka with a shrug. "I don't think so. Maybe _kyuu_ is short for _cute_?"

"...Maybe."

Her friend straightened, patting back flyaway hairs. "Anyway, you'd better show me where those bandages are. Next time you get hurt, I'll be the one to take care of you."


	8. Kyuubei says she's 'anomalous'...whatever that means.

**April 8  
(Continued)**

Sayaka refused to let Madoka use the shower until she had checked every inch of the room for cameras.

It was sore work. The fall had left the backs of her calves banged-up and one of her ankles sporting a sharp new pain: not as bad as when she'd wrenched it in first-year softball and ended up in a cast for a month, but bad enough to feel it every time she stood on tiptoe. At least her socks were long enough to cover any bruising that might have worried her friend.

Sayaka wouldn't forgive herself if she did anything to make Madoka's life harder now.

The fixtures in here seemed old, the pipes lacy with rust and the tub's pale ceramic chipped in corners. So the kidnapper had bought pretty things for the sleeping room, but hadn't taken the time to fix up washroom. That was a good sign. If Madoka's baths were being taped, the thing probably would have been better furnished.

_(The wall of high-tech screens in the window display lit up with a news report, flashing cropped photos from Madoka's Facebook page in a dozen different resolutions and aspect ratios. Sayaka recognized her hand on Madoka's shoulder in one, Hitomi's leg in another._

_"Not bad," leered one university-age passerby to another. "I bet whoever's got her is taking some cute pictures of his own."_

_It took a manager, the man in a sandwich board with the store logo, and two waitresses from the café next door to pull Sayaka off him.)_

She checked thoroughly anyway, just to be safe, then waved Madoka (now hopping on her toes in agitation...apparently she'd needed the toilet too) into the tiled room. Once the water started, she sat cross-legged on the rug to peel down her sock.

Nothing looked swollen. It wasn't even bruised yet. Sayaka tugged the navy knit back up to her knee and settled into picking through the first aid kit: gauze, an array of smaller bandages, a big Ace bandage, a sample-size tube of lotion, cotton swabs. No painkillers, and the bottle of antiseptic was almost empty, but there was a lot to work with. She felt almost hopeful.

 

***

 

Sayaka was on her knees poking through the mini-fridge for ice when Madoka's voice startled her to attention: "S-Sayaka-chan? Will you, um...will you bring me some clean clothes?"

"Of course!" Sayaka shoved the fridge closed and went to the wardrobe, rubbing her hands to warm them back up. "What do you feel like wearing?"

"Anything is okay. As long as it's clean. I'm sorry, I forgot you'd be out there!"

Sayaka picked out a dark grey shirt sewn with a delicate pattern of pink and violet flowers, a matching pink skirt, a pair of blue socks, and blue hair ribbons to match. Then, with some embarrassment, she added a white bra and blue panties. That someone had had the nerve to pick such things out for Madoka...imagining it made her teeth grind.

The first aid stuff had been shoved back under the bed by the time Madoka stumbled out, a towel over her shoulders to catch the drips from her loose water-darkened hair. As if waiting for its cue, her stomach growled; she blushed. "Dinnertime, I guess. D-do you want something to eat?"

"I'm fine!" said Sayaka promptly. "A puella magi runs on inner strength."

Madoka gave her a disconcerting look. "R-really?"

"Geez, Mado-tan, I'm kidding! I'm still human, after all. I mean that I'm tough enough to handle it. You don't have to worry about me using up your food....Unless it might be drugged? It's probably safer to let me test it, then."

"It won't be. I mean, it's been safe so far." Madoka shifted from foot to foot on the carpet. "When we eat together, they always eat first to prove it."

Sayaka's lip curled. "You let that person _eat_ with you?"

Madoka cringed. "I didn't want to starve!"

Again, Sayaka caught herself. "You're right. It's none of — I'm sure you held out as long as you could."

"I'm going to make a sandwich," said Madoka, changing the subject. She made for the cupboard without meeting Sayaka's eyes. "You should have one too if you're hungry."

There was something weird going on here, but Sayaka was distracted from pursuing it when she saw what Madoka was getting out. "Do you have more of those?"

"More bread?" Madoka held up the bag of sliced whole grain. "This is the last bag, but we'll get more if it runs out...."

"No! More knives!"

"It's just plastic," said Madoka uncertainly, blinking at the white butter knife. "But yes, there are a couple extras. Here."

The instant Sayaka's fingers closed around the stubby handle, a flood of memories hit. How it energized her whole body to draw enchanted blades out of thin air and feel the way her gloves molded to the grips. How even the lonely, uncertain Mami had glowed with hope when Sayaka greeted her in uniform at the edge of the class-representative witch's barrier. How she had turned the silver ring on her finger and felt in her bones that the wish was beginning to work.

She'd only been in one proper battle before she came looking for Madoka, but that was more than enough to know how _right_ it all felt.

For a moment she tried to channel her energy the way Mami had done...

_("Can you feel it?" said the veteran puella magi. "This is the edge of the rose witch's barrier."_

_Sayaka's skin crawled as bits of reality twisted and darkened around them. "I'm ready!" she said too-loudly, brandishing her bat. What if this was the thing that had killed Madoka? Shouldn't she contract as soon as possible, to have a better chance of killing it?_

_"Here." Not yet transformed herself, Mami squeezed the bat. It warped in its own way under her grip, becoming not dark, but silver and jewel-studded, making Sayaka think of cold iron and enchanted hoards. "This will make it stronger for you.")_

...but plastic stayed plastic, flimsy and feeble.

"Sayaka-chan...?"

"I guess you don't have anything tougher, huh?" said Sayaka. When Madoka shook her head, she added, "It's okay! If I'm careful, I bet this'll be enough to unscrew the heating grate."

 

***

 

Madoka did tempt her to food eventually. The half-eaten chocolate cake was too luscious to resist.

There was something Mami-like in her bearing while cutting it (not the Mami who slaughtered the dessert witch in a cavern of icing and sprinkles, but the Mami who handed out slices of strawberry cheesecake after), and Sayaka said so. It didn't hurt that her hair, dried but not yet pulled into severe twintails, hung in soft waves around her face.

"What kind of person is Tomoe-san?" asked Madoka, intrigued. She licked crumbs from her bottom lip and amended, "I know she's a cool onee-sama, and someone who makes good cake, but you probably don't mean I'm like that."

"Well...she works hard to be kind to people. And she's very gentle." Sayaka grinned, sitting back on her heels as she remembered. "Except witches. She looks so tough when she's fighting them, like a shounen action hero. She pulls these silver muskets out of thin air, sometimes a hundred at a time! And for her finishing move...." To be honest, Sayaka thought it was a bit show-offy, but with powers like that, who could blame her? "She creates one that's bigger than a car, and yells, _Tiro Finale!_ "

Madoka took a sip of water. Her eyes sparkled over the rim of the cup. "What does that mean?"

"She...didn't tell me," admitted Sayaka. "I fought my first witch yesterday, and didn't yell anything...."

_("Hitomi! Snap out of it!")_

"...to attack, so it's not like you need to." She squeezed the knife, or at least its largest remaining piece: the end of the blade had snapped off three times as she worked at the first tiny screw. "I guess she just thinks it sounds cool."

"Is she, um...." Madoka pulled at one of the loose purple threads on her shirt. "Do you think she's strong?"

"Well, not as strong as me, obviously," said Sayaka, kidding (mostly). "Of course she's strong! And she's been a puella magi for a couple years now, so she really knows what she's doing." A thought struck her, the question Madoka might really be working toward. "She'll definitely come find us. If I don't get you out of here first, that is."

Madoka offered her a faltering smile.

Sayaka tried not to see it as a poor cover for all the criticism Madoka was surely holding back. _Why didn't you bring her with you? Or at least tell her where you were going? Why didn't you tell the police? Why did you run headlong into danger, so sure it wouldn't be guarded by anything a puella magi couldn't handle, so unprepared to be locked up with nothing more than a plastic knife and a whole lot of fancy, empty words?_

"And what about...." The stammered question made Sayaka go tense, the throbbing in her ankle suddenly sharpened, until it turned out not to be about her at all: "...Tomoe-san's rival? What's that person like?"

Confusion distracted Sayaka from her own failures. "Her what?"

"Her...doesn't she have a rival? I-I mean, magical girls usually do...."

Of course. Even though Sayaka had explained to her about the grotesqueness of witches in their barriers, and the constant effort in seeking out their traces, all with no mention of pink sparkly wands, Madoka still wouldn't really get it until she'd seen for herself. "This isn't like TV magical girls. There's one other in Mitakihara, but we haven't even seen her. Kyuubei says she's 'anomalous'...whatever that means. And there was one who worked with Mami a while ago, but that girl moved, so she's been alone ever since."

"Until now," put in Madoka.

"Until now," Sayaka echoed. "At least, as long as we don't give up! I'm energized by cake and ready to get back to that grate."

 

***

 

Sayaka wasn't tired in the least. She could have stayed up all night if necessary. When Madoka confessed that the late hour was getting to her, Sayaka urged her to sleep without guilt.

"I'll work on this more quietly, I promise," she said. The butter knife's blade had snapped several times shorter in the process, but the top right screw had come loose, and the top left one was getting there. "If you need the light off, I can work with the bathroom light. I'll leave the door open a crack."

"I-it's not that. I've been sleeping with the lights on," admitted Madoka.

"Then there's no problem!" Sayaka threw a look over her shoulder at her friend, who had laid out the bedroll and was now standing awkwardly between it and the mattress. "Sleeping in your clothes? That's a good idea. If our big break comes in the middle of the night, you don't want to end up running across Mitakihara in your pajamas."

"I...I guess." Madoka squeezed the tummy of the stuffed panda in her arms.

(Sayaka had a brief but immersive vision of tearing it away from her, then offering something to cuddle that wasn't a kidnapper's consolation gift.)

"I usually put music on, too. Something calming, not too energetic. Is that all right?"

"Hm?" Sayaka shrugged the trace fibers of the vision away. "Oh, yes, that's great! Whatever you want is fine."

 

***

**April 9  
Saturday**

...and she was awake.

Cold hard stone propped her up; her head was pillowed on her elbow, neck screaming in protest when she tried to lift it.

There was a blanket tucked over her....

_(Half-asleep, pulling her limbs in closer against the cold...vague impressions of the bare floor slipping seamlessly into vague dreams of bare rocks by the sea...Madoka's footsteps, soft hands wrapping warmth around her, letting her fade back to blissful oblivion.)_

"Mado...ka...?"

"Sayaka-chan? Are you awake?"

"You...." Her muscles were sluggish, her brain still fogged. "You let me...sleep. What if...they'd come? Did they?"

"Forty-three minutes to go," said Madoka. "You can rest longer, if you want. I'll wake you when it's time."

"No," mumbled Sayaka, wrestling with her body to make it sit up. "I'm fine. I'm ready. Always ready."

So much to do. Had to pop back in the screws...kidnapper couldn't be tipped off that they were loose. Had to...hide?...the knife. Under the mattress? In her sleeve? Could try to stab the guy...but he'd gotten the best of her before...better to hold back? Dammit, she'd made plans for this. Just had to remember what they were. (And then throw out the parts she'd come up with while half-dreaming. The plan to hide the flamethrower behind the turtle, for instance, had a few small reality-based flaws.)

Sayaka dragged herself into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and stuck her whole head under the water.

It was a start.

 

***

 

The butter knife ended up stashed in her sock. It wasn't at the most convenient angle, and she hadn't had time to practice quick-drawing it or anything, but that was okay, because she was also armed with an oversized plate.

She waited on the second step from the top, weapon raised, Madoka watching from the landing. The pillowcase was slung over Madoka's shoulder, weighted down with the first aid kit, a bottle of fresh water, and (because it would make her feel better, and it didn't weigh _that_ much) the stupid panda.

On second thought, maybe they should have used the pillowcase as the weapon, filling it with the heaviest items findable? No, it was too late to rewrite the strategy now. And the ability to make a quick getaway was essential.

Sayaka flashed a thumbs-up and a grin. Madoka gave her a weak smile in return. She still didn't seem confident about this plan. Well, she'd feel better once Sayaka had bashed this guy over the head.

How long now? Two minutes? Three? Five? If only she'd brought the wall clock. Hung at the foot of the staircase, it could have told her exactly when to start getting tense.

"Miki Sayaka. Please step away from the door."

The sound of her name less than a meter from her ear made Sayaka blow her cover completely. She yelped, she stumbled, it was a minor miracle she didn't drop the plate.

"Sayaka-chan!" This time her name was a relief, giving her something other than shock to focus on. "It's okay. Come down. The door won't open unless you're down here."

Ears burning, Sayaka took the steps two solemn thuds at a time. So it hadn't worked. There was a camera she'd missed, or the kidnapper was indeed magic-related with prescience or X-ray vision, or...no wonder Madoka hadn't been enthusiastic, she'd known all along...well, Sayaka would just have to regroup and try again, harder next time....

She waited in the basement bedroom, hands trembling around the chocolate smears on her plate. Madoka had put the pillowcase down, but stood gallantly at attention by her side.

The tread on the stairs was awfully light.

The new arrival rounded the stairs, and Sayaka's mouth dropped open. That long and silky hair. That flawless pale skin. Those amethyst eyes, unmistakable even without their trademark glasses. A streamlined uniform hugged her figure; a black plastic garbage bag was slung over her shoulder; a purple jewel in a gold setting shone on the back of her hand.

"Akemi-san! You contracted!" Sayaka grabbed Madoka into a bear hug. "We're saved, Mado-chan! Transfer student to the rescue!"

"Ah, um, Sayaka-chan...."

Letting her go, Sayaka whirled back to the transfer student. "We have to look for my soul gem before we get out of here. It won't take long, don't worry. You see, I —"

"Kaname Madoka." Akemi talked right through her. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"I...guess," said Madoka. "No worse than usual."

"Good." Akemi tossed the garbage bag onto the floor between them. "Clothing for a taller person. A couple of magazines. And your schoolwork, as usual."

It clicked.

"Oh, fuck you," hissed Sayaka.

"Sayaka-chan!" cried Madoka, scandalized. Akemi didn't even blink.

"I'm right, aren't I? You're the kidnapper! And I bet you're Kyuubei's anomaly, too!"

That at least sparked a flash of emotion. "I am not _Kyuubei's_ anything."

With a snarl of fury Sayaka leaped.

The room did a jump-cut around her, and she landed with a thump on the mattress.

Madoka's squeak of fright kept Sayaka's priorities in order. She was still in the same room, Akemi was still between them and the door, and it was her first and foremost duty to take out Akemi. She threw herself off the bed, landing on her feet with a grace that would have been a point of pride if she'd been paying enough attention to notice, and tensed to move again and — what the hell — was that a _gun?_ Where would a middle schooler get a —

_Click._

Sayaka didn't think. She didn't charge. She just skidded to a stop between Akemi and Madoka, chest heaving, arms flung out. "Don't you dare."

"I will not hurt Kaname Madoka. I have no wish to hurt you either, Miki Sayaka. Do not force my hand."

"You _won't hurt her?_ " spat Sayaka. "What do you call kidnapping her and locking her up for two weeks, huh? Are you pointing a damn _handgun_ at her for her _health?_ "

"The prison is to keep her out of harm's way," said Akemi flatly. "And the gun is only here because you are."

Birdlike hands tugged at the back of her shirt. "Saya-chan, please — she never had a gun before, and she hasn't hurt me, I swear —"

"She cried!" shouted Sayaka. "Did she tell you that? When we found out she was the last person to see you before you disappeared, I yelled at her for not paying enough attention, and she started crying! I got in trouble for _bullying_ her!"

Madoka fell silent. Sayaka did the same, quaking with restrained fury. Bitter tears swam in the corners of her eyes.

"Whether your life is fair, Miki Sayaka, is not my concern." This Akemi, the real Akemi, was so cold. Like a monster; like a corpse. "You will be supplied with food and other necessities. When Walpurgis Night has passed, you will be released. In the meantime, you will be kept from jeopardizing the safety of Kaname Madoka by whatever means are necessary."

_(High on the rush of victory, Sayaka shepherded the box witch's dazed victims out into the fresh night air. A cool breeze kicked up at just the right moment, wafting away the fumes that clung to their hair and clothing. She found Hitomi and embraced her, still in full puella magi uniform, taking the chance that her friend wasn't lucid enough to remember anything suspicious._

_In the middle of the triumph, Mami touched her soul gem, frowned, and doubled back into the toxic warehouse._

_She re-emerged a minute later, half-leading, half-carrying a glassy-eyed university student. "And this is why you always double-check," she explained to Sayaka. "It's easy to miss people with a group this large. We don't run across them often, though, and you did remarkably well for your first fight, so don't feel bad about it."_

_The student still had a black eye from when Sayaka had slugged him earlier._

_"I don't feel bad at all," she lied.)_

Sayaka's skin crawled. If a witch took human form, Akemi's were the eyes it would have. "You're inhuman."

"And you," said Akemi, as if this were far worse, "are an arrogant fool."

"Akemi-san, stop it!" cried Madoka.

Akemi...nodded. Once. Slowly.

"Let us hope tomorrow goes better," she said, and vanished — gun and all — without a whisper.


	9. All that matters is to keep moving.

**April 11  
Monday**

Madoka crossed off another date on her handwritten calendar, and glanced over at the bedroll. At least this time Sayaka had made it under the covers before dropping like a rock.

The idea of staggering their sleep schedules had its appeal. It offered some illusion of privacy for parts of the day, which they would probably need, no matter how much they loved each other, to keep from stabbing each other over the next three weeks. Not that Sayaka had planned it that way. She was still thinking in terms of _all in, right now, to get out of this today_.

Supplies for a second prisoner had been appearing in batches at the top of the stairs. The clothes Homura had brought in Sayaka's size were decent but plain, with none of the careful (okay, stalker-y) attention to detail she had paid Madoka's wardrobe. She was in a grey T-shirt now, and the leg that stuck out from the end of the bedroll revealed the hem of a pair of teal sweatpants...

...and the Ace bandage?

Creeping out from under the mattress covers, Madoka tiptoed over to check. Sure enough, her eyes hadn't betrayed her. When had Sayaka hurt her ankle? Why hadn't she mentioned it?

 _Pride,_ Madoka answered herself. Stupid question. Sayaka kept secrets in order to look strong, just as Madoka kept secrets in order to keep peace. _And look how well it turned out for me...._

She sank back onto the bed and tried to think of something to do that wouldn't disturb Sayaka's sleep. _Kaguya Super Contract Z_ might work with the sound off, but the noises were half the fun.

The school morning stretching routines came to mind, and she settled into them with relish. She'd fallen out of the habit, with nothing so energetic as Sayaka's escape-seeking efforts to replace it, and gotten antsy and twitchy as a result. Right arm across chest. Left arm across chest. Right elbow...

...behind her ear? Or could it be out in front of her? And where was she supposed to grip her arm?

For that matter, how did the leg stretches even start?

Madoka grabbed her notepad and frantically wrote down all the stretches she could remember. No need to panic over it, she told herself. Sayaka would remember them better...and she could even ask Homura, though the notion would horrify Sayaka beyond the telling of it.

She took a calming breath, turned the page, and started doodling instead.

 

***

**April 12  
Tuesday**

"I've got it!" exclaimed Sayaka, appearing in front of Madoka as she stepped freshly-showered out of the bathroom. "Soy sauce!"

"...What?"

"We'll hoard it. Soy sauce, frosting, ketchup, whatever we can get. Then spread it all on the steps right before Akemi comes in. She'll slip and fall, and we make a dash for it while she's down!"

Madoka shivered, wringing out her soaking pink locks. "Falling down stairs hurts, though!"

"Mado-tan. That's the whole point."

"But — what if she breaks her back, or something? That is, who's going to stop Walpurgis Night?"

Sayaka smacked her chest with an open palm. "Me and Mami, of course! Don't you believe in us?"

"I...it's not a question of belief." Madoka ran the comb through the end of a tufted fistful of hair. "The way she talks about it, it sounds so overwhelming...and Ho— and Akemi definitely wants to fight it. Wouldn't it be best to have as many allies as you can get? To keep her unharmed at least until then, for the sake of protecting Mitakihara?"

"Ehhh, I bet Akemi's lying about that too," said Sayaka with an arch hand-flip. "If it were really a big deal, wouldn't she want _me_ for an ally? And instead she's got me locked in some hole without my Soul Gem, where I can't even practice."

"I guess that's true."

"Hey, don't worry about it," insisted Sayaka. "Mami's protected this whole city for years all by herself. Together we'll be unstoppable."

 

***

**April 13  
Wednesday**

"It's a game," explained Madoka, standing at Sayaka's shoulder while she hovered the mouse over the _Kaguya Super Contract Z_ icon. It was the first time Sayaka had paid attention to the computer since discovering it had no wireless card. "Actually, Akemi told me she would let me out if I could win it...."

"She said what?" Pressed up against her back, Madoka flinched; Sayaka moved immediately to reassure her. "Madoka-chan, you airhead! And you've been wasting your time on homework? I mean, it's probably hacked to be unwinnable, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try, right?"

"I didn't even get close," Madoka admitted. "But that could just be me."

Sayaka harumphed. "I bet it was! I bet Akemi had it arranged to take up all your time, just like she had the clothes arranged to make you feel comfortable." She clicked past the starting screen, opening up a playing field. "How does it work?"

It probably would have been faster just to read the instructions, but Madoka caught on and played along with Sayaka's attempt at reaching out. "It's like the story of Princess Kaguya, you see? There's a Princess in every bamboo shoot — there, click it! When you click it, it Contracts them, you see? And the bad guys are — there! Aim at that. It's a Shadow, and you have to take it down with your Moonlight. It's kind of like Sailor Moon, too."

"Or like a real puella magi," agreed Sayaka, navigating her Princess between a handful of new bamboo stalks to take on the next Shadow. "I'm going to clean this field up in a snap. You watch."

"There's a catch, though," said Madoka. "You can't leave the Princesses alone for too long, or they turn into Shadows."

"They _what?_ "

"Yeah, it's tricky, you see—"

"The hell kind of mind game is this?" Sayaka clicked the game window closed, hitting the _Yes_ under _Exit now?_ with a vicious snap. The slander of it! That awful, manipulative.... "This isn't a game at all. It's brainwashing! She's trying to make you think puella magi turn into — into —!"

"Into witches?"

Sayaka let out a hiss of frustration. "If she wanted you to avoid contracting so bad, why couldn't she be straightforward about it, huh? Why does she have to be a freak about it?" Without waiting for an answer, she moved on: "Is there anything else interesting on here, or is it just your pop music and papers for Saotome-sensei?"

"Well...Akemi has brought some classical music down lately...."

She put her own warm hand over Sayaka's, and guided the mouse through the appropriate folders. When she got to the album name, Sayaka drew in a short breath through her teeth. "That folder. The Kaiou one. Open it up."

Madoka did.

"Are the filenames right? Play one of them."

Madoka did.

"I don't believe it," muttered Sayaka, as a haunting violin waltz soared through the room. "Either she also hunts down obscure classical recordings, or that lunatic ripped my iPod."

 

***

**April 14  
Thursday**

"Do you think you could convince Akemi to bring us energy drinks?"

"I could try. There used to be iced coffee, but I drank it all." Madoka was up on the bed with Panda-san at her side and the notebook on her knees, while Sayaka paced the rug with military precision. Now that she was looking for it, Sayaka did seem to be favoring one ankle. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to let yourself relax more?"

"Are you kidding? If anything, you're the one who needs to relax less and exercise! You'll get all out of shape if you don't. Like astronauts after they've been in space for weeks."

"Isn't that because of the lack of gravity...?"

"It's the principle of the thing!"

"And anyway," added Madoka, blushing, "I don't remember how to stretch."

This brought a halt to Sayaka's pacing. "You mean like before class?" At Madoka's nod, she rocked back on her heels and thought. "Now that you mention it, I don't either. But who needs 'em? Technique isn't important. All that matters is to keep moving."

"I've been taking walks," Madoka admitted. "In circles, like you just now. When I start to feel too antsy and cooped-up."

"Really? I don't remember...."

"I save it for when you're asleep. It's too weird, it would feel embarrassing if you watched."

Sayaka threw herself backward onto the bed at Madoka's feet. Her exuberance reminded Madoka of their third-grade sleepovers, back when they didn't have so far to fall. "Don't be ridiculous, Madoka. It's only walking."

Before Madoka could answer, her stomach let out a loud gurgle. She blushed and tried to hide her face with her notebook (the top drawing featuring herself in a mahou shoujo outfit based on Ojamajo Doremi). Sayaka giggled.

"You want something from the fridge?" she asked. "I bet I can recite everything that's in there. I bet...." Her eyes narrowed; she sat up, giving the squat refrigerator a predatory once-over. "I bet we'd find something we could use in there if we just took the thing apart."

"Sayaka-chan! You can't mean it. It's too valuable!"

Sayaka sighed. "I guess you're right. If something goes wrong with Akemi's plans, we'll need the food storage."

 

***

**April 15  
Friday**

The last slice of chocolate cake was dried and flavorless, and Sayaka wasn't all that hungry. She forced herself through each chilled bite anyway, with Madoka cheering her on. "Don't give up, Sayaka-chan! Get that sugar rush! Thirteen more minutes, that's all, then you can fall asleep. You can do it!"

Even if Sayaka was still awake when Akemi came down, she wasn't going to be much use in this state. Maybe she should take a calculated loss. Better to nap through their jailer's visit and make it look deliberate than to let Akemi watch her fail in the struggle to stay awake....

"Don't slouch!" urged Madoka. "Maybe you should walk in — um, I mean, you could do sit-ups — get your blood flowing! Or I — I could get some cold water and throw it on you! Would that help?"

"Water," echoed Sayaka, tongue thick from the crumbled chocolate residue. "Just to drink, please."

Madoka hopped up from her cross-legged position on the floor, to rummage in the cupboard and the fridge before sitting back across from Sayaka moments later with an icy glass. "Here you go!"

After a few quenching gulps, Sayaka held the glass to her temple, hoping the cold would shock her brain into waking back up.

Get her blood flowing, Madoka had said....

"Madoka? Do you know how to waltz?"

"N-no."

Sayaka grinned. "Want to learn?"

At a couple of centimeters taller, Sayaka took the boy's role. Not a problem; she could do the girl role already, and that was the one Madoka would probably be playing, right? Even if she did end up in some cute _moe_ girls' love-love situation, odds were good the other girl would be taller.

"You hear the three-four time?" she asked, one hand resting on Madoka's waist, head already nodding with the beat of the digitized violin's chords.

Madoka (blushing cutely) nodded. For all her protests that she didn't know a lot about music, she had heard Sayaka talk about it often enough, and picked things up faster than she gave herself credit for.

"Your feet start each measure together," said Sayaka, reciting the familiar words in spite of the fog still plaguing her sleepy mind. "On each beat you take a small step with one foot, then a big step with the other, then a small step with the first foot to bring them together again. We'll start on my countdown, okay?"

"I think so," stammered Madoka.

Ah, she'd be fine. " _Three_ -two-three _Two_ -two-three _one_ -two-three _go!_ -two-three...."

There had been a time when Sayaka had boasted she could do classical dances in her sleep. She'd thought she was exaggerating. Apparently, not by much....

A sway of exhaustion hit, and her heel smacked against the bedpost.

Sayaka instinctively grabbed Madoka's shoulder and waist, clutching her friend for support while standing on one foot and biting the insides of her cheeks to distract her from the pain. It didn't fool Madoka for a second. "Sayaka-chan! Are you okay? H-here, sit down! Is it your ankle?"

No longer afraid of drifting off the instant she touched the mattress, Sayaka let Madoka help her to it. "You...noticed?"

Madoka blushed again. "I saw that you had it wrapped up," she admitted, trying to lift Sayaka onto the covers. Their relative statures didn't make it easy work, but she gave it her best. "I didn't know it was still bad. You should elevate it! I'll get the cold water —"

Over her shoulder, Akemi chose that moment to shimmer into view.

"She's here," grunted Sayaka.

With a squeak of surprise Madoka let go, letting Sayaka's limbs untangle from hers.  
"A-A-Akemi-san!"

Was it Sayaka's imagination, or did the girl's image flicker like a bad holo? "Kaname Madoka. Am I interrupting?"

"Sayaka hurt her leg!" burst out Madoka (Sayaka tried not to groan). "We need more ibuprofen. And a new bandage!"

Akemi's hand dipped under her shield. Out came a rolled-up bandage, which she tossed aside to land on the bedroll, then a pair of small white pills. "Step aside. I'll watch her take them."

What did she think this was, a psych ward? Sayaka tried to think of advantages she could wring out of a couple of painkillers, but nothing came to mind. And then Akemi had the handgun out again. When she dropped the pills into Sayaka's outstretched palm, Sayaka resisted the urge to clock her one.

With Akemi so close and Madoka shooed out of the way, she realized all at once, Madoka had a clear path to the stairs.

Sayaka stalled. She tried to get the pills to stay under her tongue, more to kill time than because she thought she'd get away with it. She swished the water around in her mouth. She caught Madoka's eye and tried to relay the idea through sheer willpower. If only telepathy still worked when Kyuubei was out of range!

Madoka looked meaningfully at the gun, then turned away.

The pills were starting to dissolve, the bitter taste washing through her mouth. Sayaka gulped them down and stuck out her tongue at Akemi, who nodded and left without a word — walking right past Madoka, brazen as you please, and up the stairs.

Sayaka hated her _so much._

"I'm sorry," said Madoka, breaking the silence. "I completely forgot to ask for soy sauce."

 

***

**April 16  
Saturday**

Madoka crossed off another date on her handwritten calendar. If Homura was to be believed, her ordeal was more than halfway through.

She almost wanted to celebrate, but it wasn't like she could bring this up with Sayaka, who would have been suspicious if Homura had asserted that water was wet. Instead she let Sayaka sleep. It was the only real relaxation her friend was getting; a week in, and Sayaka still spent her waking hours wrestling with the bounds of their prison, when she wasn't practicing various methods of taking on Homura or being relentlessly cheerful with Madoka. If the girl hadn't had a roommate's comfort to think of, Madoka suspected she wouldn't have bothered to bathe.

There was no knowing when Sayaka had last gone to sleep, but she was dead to the world when Homura came down that afternoon, and no amount of Madoka's shaking could wake her.

"Good," said Homura, pocketing her gun (not that she had pockets; it was the shield, that was it, some kind of pocket with magic). "I can bring you some hot food without worrying it'll be thrown at me."

"You shouldn't antagonize her," said Madoka. Loyalty hummed in her chest. "Wasn't it bad enough to lock her up without insulting her too?"

Homura's mask slipped. What Madoka saw underneath was unidentifiable, almost glitchy, like a computer program struggling with what emotion to render next. "She doesn't listen. I tried to be nice. Over and over. She never listens...."

When had she found the time to "be nice" to Sayaka for more than five minutes?

"Thinks she's the hero. Thinks there are heroes in the first place. Wastes her wish on that boy's happiness — throws her life away on the gamble that he'll love her — throws us all under the bus when she realizes he won't. Doesn't realize she knows nothing."

"I don't think it's a waste at all!" exclaimed Madoka, rallying to her snoring friend's defense. "Why shouldn't a comfortable person use their power to help someone less fortunate? If — if I were to get a wish — I'd think it was a waste to use it on myself!"

"You shouldn't think things like that," snapped Homura. 

"Why not? Even down here, I'm safe, I have food and water, you're planning to let me out — I'm better off than so many other people! And even if I became a puella magi and — and died — if I could heal sick people, or clean up the pollution in the ocean, or stop a war—"

"And not think about what it would do to the family and friends that love you?"

"Don't use my family against me!" cried Madoka. "The one who's hurt them most already is you!"

"You, also, know nothing," said Homura darkly.

"And you know so much? What did _you_ wish for?"

Homura's violet gaze bored into her. For a second Madoka saw what Sayaka must have seen when she hissed _Inhuman_.

The question went unanswered.

 

***

 

When Sayaka found out she'd slept through Homura's visit, she very nearly lost it.

"And you let me miss it?" she demanded of Madoka, after going through several paint-peeling curses. "What were you thinking?"

"I — I'm sorry, I tried —"

"Did you? Did you really? You're not, I don't know, conspiring with Ms. Mysterious Transfer Student while keeping me knocked out?"

She was in motion, rocking back and forth on her heels, arms gesturing broadly and hands clenching in front of her. Madoka meanwhile stood with feet pressed tightly together, shoulders hunched. "How can you say that?"

"How could _you_ not tell me it was Akemi in the first place? How could you let me look like an idiot? How could you just sit around like you've given up?"

It took Madoka beginning to cry to snap Sayaka back to her senses.

"Madoka...?"

"I'm sorry." Her hands clenched around fistfuls of her skirt; teardrops dripped down and spattered on her taut knuckles. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this right. I've never been kidnapped before. I tried to wake you up. I swear I tried. I'm sorry...."

"No. I am."

Madoka's head bobbed up. Sayaka put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, then stepped forward into a wooden hug. It was, for the moment, the best she could do.

"It's my own fault," she said, patching the words together into phrases. _I've been screwing around. Wasted a whole week knocking on stone walls and uncovering tiny air ducts. Preened and postured when Akemi wasn't around, only to fold any time she showed up. Fooled myself into thinking it was enough. That you were out of danger because I found you in one piece._ "Shouldn't have yelled. You're not the one I'm mad at. It's okay. I'll do better. For you."

 

***

 

"Are...are you sure it's night?" asked Sayaka. The lights were out, and a soothing instrumental playlist on a loop, but she couldn't have felt less wide-awake.

Madoka, beside her, shrugged. "That's what the clock says."

"And you think we can trust it?"

"I think...we may as well," said Madoka slowly. "You don't have to sleep now if you don't want."

Sayaka shook her head. "Mm-mm. I said I'd get back on a normal sleep schedule, and I meant it."

Being under the same covers as Madoka had been the best incentive she could think of. It had been a few years since they'd had a proper sleepover, but Sayaka was hoping her body would remember that having Madoka curled up in light pajamas next to her was its cue to fall asleep soon, and hold still and quit in the meantime.

(The plan was, in some ways, backfiring.)

"...I have to confess something," whispered Madoka, one hand brushing Sayaka's sleeved shoulder.

Sayaka did her best impression of someone whose heart rate hadn't just suddenly doubled. "Yeah?"

"It's a little embarrassing...."

"Um, Madoka...maybe you should hold on to that kind of thing for now? A situation like this can make you...lose perspective. You might say something you'll regret, once we're home...."

"You deserve to know!" exclaimed Madoka, fidgeting against the sheets. (One of the stuffed animals above their heads was jostled by the motion; a fuzzy ear flopped across Sayaka's face.) "I-it's about you."

Sayaka swallowed. "O-okay. Go ahead."

"Akemi told me...I mean, I didn't ask, or anything, she just said it like she forgot I wouldn't know...Your wish. She told me your puella magi wish was to heal Kamijou-kun."

In the darkness, Sayaka stared, then began to grin. _Got her._

"Sayaka-chan? Are you mad?"

"She _is_ lying." Sayaka couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this smug. "That, or Miss All-For-Your-Own-Good doesn't know as much as she thinks she does."

"Oh! Then what was...? Um, not that you have to tell me, if you don't want...."

"It's fine." A sudden fit of daring made Sayaka want to roll over and drape her arm across Madoka's stomach, maybe even twine their legs together. If it weren't for her plans for tomorrow, she really might have. "Mado-tan...my wish was to be able to find you."  



	10. Akemi's weak point is you.

**April 18  
Monday**

Madoka should have realized something was different.

Sayaka was quiet from the moment she woke up. Intense as ever, but with very few words: no insistent perkiness, no determined escape plans. Madoka thought it meant she was finally adjusting. Or that she had decided to give herself a break for one day.

And if her gut instinct was that this wasn't like Sayaka, well, Madoka's judgment about people was off lately. She had put too much trust in Homura, or at least Homura's knowledge. Then, a couple of nights ago, she had thought...okay, it was embarrassing now, but in bed she had felt like Sayaka might try to...anyway, the point was, Sayaka hadn't, had she? All in Madoka's head.

Captivity made you lose perspective. It was science.

When Madoka did up her twintails (yellow ribbons, to match her socks), they came out uneven. She didn't bother trying to fix them. What was the point? Besides, Sayaka needed the bathroom.

 

***

 

A few minutes before Homura's scheduled arrival, Sayaka was actually looking through their math homework. Madoka, sitting back on the bed, was trying to draw while keeping an eye on the clock, but her gaze kept being pulled toward the improbable sight.

When they heard the door open, Sayaka pushed back her chair and took her usual defensive place between Madoka and the bottom of the stairs. Homura stepped into view carrying two bowls of ramen, which she set on the top of the cupboard before shoveling the pile of trash and dirty dishes into her shield. She barely spared a glance for Sayaka, now standing on two un-bandaged feet, or Madoka, peering at her over the top of the notebook.

Sayaka didn't wait to be noticed. "Why Madoka?" she demanded, arms crossed.

Homura didn't answer.

"Hey, transfer student, I'm talking to you!" Sayaka was fiddling with the cuffs of her long sleeves, as if they didn't fit right. "Why is it so important to you that Madoka doesn't contract?"

"Maybe I don't want the competition," said Homura, without looking up.

"Bull. We were both potential magical girls when you transferred, but she's the only one you kidnapped. What makes her special?"

Madoka hugged herself, unsettled by the bite in her friend's voice. "Sayaka-chan, please...."

"You know, when you two first met, I thought you had a thing for her," continued Sayaka, unheeding. "Didn't know you were a liar and an actor then, obviously. But it's easiest to act when you're playing something close to the truth, isn't it? Even though you're both girls."

Madoka felt her face go red. What was Sayaka _doing?_

"Do you like having her down here? If she doesn't want you, at least she'll be all cute and helpless and at your mer— hey!"

Homura had vanished. Except for the ramen, there was no sign she had been there at all.

"Th-that was mean!" exclaimed Madoka. Her fingers pressed intently into the thinning pad of paper.

"Oh, like she doesn't deserve it?" demanded Sayaka. Something white flashed in her palm; she dropped it and kicked it hurriedly under the bed, grinning all the while.

"It doesn't matter! Even if she's been horrible, there's nothing wrong with...." She shivered. "You're not supposed to be like Hitomi-chan!"

"Madoka. It was an act. An act!" Sayaka bounced onto the bed, one hand splaying across Madoka's calf to steady herself. "Don't you get it? I was trying to upset her. To throw her off-balance. And it worked! Didn't you see the look on her face?"

"I...I don't understand."

"Everyone has a weak point." She squeezed Madoka's leg for emphasis. "Akemi's weak point is you. All we have to do now is use it."

When Madoka nodded, Sayaka began to outline her plan. Every time she leaned forward to emphasize a point, her hand scooted higher up Madoka's calf; wrapped up in her enthusiasm, she didn't seem to notice. She sounded absolutely certain of the details, and even to Madoka they made sense. As long as Madoka's acting skills were up to the job, this ploy just might work.

Sayaka was finally winding down when she looked with a start at her fingers, now a hairsbreadth from the hem of Madoka's dark gathered skirt. "Ah! Sorry," she stammered. "I guess I was over-excited...."

Before she could pull away, Madoka clapped her own palm on top of Sayaka's hand, holding it in place.

There was a moment when neither girl breathed.

"You don't need to say anything, Sayaka," said Madoka softly. She felt warm all over, not with embarrassment but with a delicious tingly feeling, particularly up and down the insides of her legs. "But...but if there was something you wanted to tell me...I think you should."

Sayaka swallowed hard, eyes locking on hers. "Did you ever read the stories about knights? In Camelot, with King Arthur?"

Madoka shook her head. "All I know are the parts you've talked about."

"Okay. Well. When these knights all go on their noble quests, it's in the name of the person they love. But it has to be a...a pure love, you know? They can't let themselves get distracted, or, or impure — not that you're a impurity or anything! — point is, they'll lose their focus, and won't be good enough anymore, and, and...."

...and she was babbling, they both knew it, desperately trying to bluff and bluster her way around...what?

Madoka bent towards her, moving to clasp her bare wrist. Sayaka's breath caught.

"The thing is." Madoka pulled on Sayaka's hand, shivering as the other girl's fingers twitched against her skin. "The thing is, I don't think that's right! I think, if I love you, and I _do_ , I don't see why there's anything wrong with you being able to t-touch me!"

"Madoka...." breathed Sayaka, the name unfurling like a sigh.

Then, with exquisite hesitation, she slid her hand up under the edge of Madoka's skirt.

 

***

 

Every flutter of Madoka's lashes was a treasure, every tiny noise from her lips a revelation.

_If I could keep just these parts of you locked in my heart forever...I think I'd be happy._

The first time she kissed Sayaka, their teeth scraped together and her squeak of surprise sent them both dissolving into giggles. Then they tried it again.

_Was all of this...the wish, the contract, the fighting of witches, the raging against these four walls...was it really for some noble purpose? Or was it nothing more than a selfish bid to make you grateful enough to touch me like this?_

By unspoken agreement their hands danced over only what bare skin they could reach. Up Madoka's legs to the jutting bones of her hips were encircled by a thin lace-colored strip of elastic, under Sayaka's shirt to trace the tops of plush silk-hugged curves: these were pushing the rules, not cheating.

_I don't deserve you. No one deserves you. But I'll fight until I do, or die trying._

They fell asleep on the same bed again that night, in soft clean pajamas: Sayaka the biggest spoon, Madoka the middle one, and Panda-san the little spoon. Madoka's top hung loose around the neckline; Sayaka could see the pale soft expanse of her shoulder, the dusting of freckles that led down the tops of her teacup breasts before the stuffed panda's head crushed the fabric too close to peer farther.

 _I love you,_ Sayaka thought fiercely. _I love you so much._

And she slipped into murky dreams, full of dark fumes and glassy-eyed zombies with bruised faces, each blue swelling marked with a witch's-kiss: two bars of nonsense notes in three-quarter time.

 

***

**April 19  
Tuesday**

Sayaka lay sprawled on the futon, on top of the covers, hair falling over her eyes and one sock half-off. Her breathing was perfectly even. Just to drive the point home, she added a gentle snore.

"I don't think that helps," whispered Madoka. "M-maybe you should leave that out."

"Got it," hissed Sayaka in return. "How long do I have?"

"A minute and a half," said Madoka without looking at the clock. Sayaka had gotten into position ten minutes early, and asked for an ETA about as many times. With all the clock-watching Madoka had done these past few weeks, she could have counted the seconds blindfolded.

A few weeks. Three and a half, to be precise. There were less than two full rows of dates waiting to be crossed out on Madoka's hand-penciled calendar; Homura had probably calculated that by this point she would give up and decide to wait the last of it out. Without Sayaka there to help her, the calculation might even have been right.

She had to get out. To hug her parents and Tatsuya, to tell Hitomi and Kyousuke they were safe and well, to stand under the blue sky and fall into Sayaka's arms. She had to hold Sayaka's hand and say, _Mama, I'm in love with a girl. And you don't have to worry about anything, because she's already taken such good care of me...._

And to make all that happen, she had to stuff those recently-exploded feelings back in a box.

Hit with another round of nerves, Madoka adjusted her hair ribbons (blue today...had that been a too-revealing choice?) for the umpteenth time. _Don't think about her hands under your shirt. Don't think about the burning where her lips touched your neck. Don't think about how much you love her when she's brilliant and strong and determined, how that ache in your heart is just as strong when she's angry and restless and hurting where she won't let you see...._

"Thirty seconds," she whispered, and tiptoed to the corner of the room, the little square of floor space that stuck out past the wall to catch the base of the dark and hidden stairs.

She was waiting there with politely folded hands and toes turned inward when the door far above opened to a sliver of light, and Homura's heels clicked down the top few steps. "Kaname Madoka. Are you waiting for something?"

"S-sort of," said Madoka. "Please don't be too loud. Sayaka...Sayaka-chan's asleep again, and I want her to stay that way."

Homura tilted her head. Her violet eyes were glassy and expressionless; in the backlit gloom Madoka could make out what looked like fresh scars across one of her cheeks. "Is her presence becoming unwelcome? I will dispose of her if you like."

"Dispose...? Do you mean take her somewhere else?"

"I mean I will do to her what all people who hurt Kaname Madoka deserve."

"Don't be so mean!" hissed Madoka, voice unexpectedly breaking. "Even if she's been horrible to you, that doesn't give you the right to...to...!"

 _I don't have to pretend not to be in love with Sayaka,_ she realized in that moment. _All I have to do is aim those feelings at Homura._

"I apologize," said Homura with a slight bow, and took a step backward.

"Don't go," begged Madoka. She would never pull this off if Homura didn't give her the chance. "Please don't go."

 

***

 

Holding still had never been Sayaka's strong suit. But if it was required of her as the knight and protector of her best friend, she could do anything.

Madoka's uncertain sock-footed steps padded backward into the main room, followed by Akemi's steady footfalls. Sayaka kept her eyes tight shut.

"Why do you always leave the door open?" asked Madoka. It was the line they had prepared, a hint meant for Sayaka without sounding obvious about it; but to Sayaka's ears it sounded false and calculated, a hard shift from the verge-of-tears she was supposed to be pulling herself off of. "That is, um, what would you do if it shut by accident? If there were a breeze, or a passing cat, or something?"

If Akemi felt any suspicion, she didn't show it. "It is too heavy to shut by accident."

"...oh. Okay."

"But if it were closed on purpose, I would explode it with a pipe bomb."

Madoka's voice went shaky. Sayaka could picture her face, the blood drained away, lashes fluttering. "That's very...um, impressive."

"I scare you," said Akemi.

There was a limit to how many lies Madoka could tell without expecting Akemi to see through her like a screen door. To Sayaka's relief, she didn't push it. "Y-yes. Sorry."

"Don't be. It would be strange if you weren't."

"Would it?" A soft sound, as of clasping hands; Sayaka heard someone's breath hitch, and could have sworn it wasn't Madoka's. Maybe the crazy girl had real feelings after all. "Even if you're dangerous, Akemi-san...it's to protect me, right? You wouldn't hurt me?"

Sayaka lifted her eyelids the tiniest fraction. As planned, Akemi's back was to her, and Madoka was clutching her hands while displaying irresistible sparkling wide doe-eyes. She was beautiful. Fragile, to look at her. Indescribably precious.

"Kaname Madoka..." For the first time, silver-tongued Akemi seemed lost for words. "There is too much you don't understand."

"I...I'm glad you're here," stammered Madoka. "Is _that_ strange?"

"Yes," said Akemi. "You should far prefer Miki Sayaka's company to mine."

That, at least, she and Sayaka could agree on.

"It's nothing against Sayaka-chan!" insisted Madoka. "She's under a lot of stress right now, that's all. It doesn't mean she doesn't care about me! Once we get out, I'm sure she'll go back to normal! Akemi-san, please, tell me she's going to be okay? I d-don't know why, but it feels like I can rely on you...."

Noiselessly, while she was talking, Sayaka sat up. Her path was clear.

Madoka's eyes were much too shifty. After a glance that took in Sayaka, she solved the problem by bowing her head, using a shaky little hiccup to jolt that much closer to Akemi. "I'm s-sorry, you might not want someone like me clinging to you, when all I've done is cause you trouble and make you go to all this effort...."

"Trouble," echoed Akemi. "You have no idea how much trouble, Kaname Madoka...."

Her dark hair shifted as her own head dipped to touch Madoka's.

In her long and neatly-cuffed sleeves, Sayaka's hand twitched just so.

She had told Madoka the plan was to keep Akemi distracted while Sayaka ran for the door. As if that weren't doomed to fail. The steel door was only the first hurdle to clear; Sayaka would have to find her Soul Gem, find a phone, maybe find a series of hiding places, all while avoiding recapture. Even if Madoka could buy her an insane amount of time before Akemi noticed the prison's missing tenant, the basic plan still involved Sayaka abandoning her to be touched and pawed at for the duration. And if Sayaka did escape, Madoka would doubtless be hauled off to an emergency backup cell, to suffer who knew what before Sayaka, Mami, and the police tracked her down again....

"You never listen," continued Akemi, an unstable lilt rocking her otherwise emotionless voice. "I tell you to stay put and you don't. I tell you not to wish and you ignore it. So much I've had to do to you, Kaname Madoka, because you couldn't leave well enough alone...But it's okay now. You're going to be safe whether you want to or not...."

Most importantly, Sayaka couldn't run now because Akemi was _fucking crazy._

"I—" began Madoka, then shrieked as Akemi was yanked away from her, Sayaka leaping onto the lunatic's back and jabbing with the first of her self-sharpened knives. Once. Twice.

She hit a vein. Blood sprayed across Madoka's face.

"Run!" yelled Sayaka.

Akemi thrashed and struggled, not screaming, barely making a sound except for the panicked clock-tick coming from her shield. Sayaka stabbed again. Her vision greyed at the edges in time with the clicking, and there was something wrong with the way Madoka was moving, but she had no time to wonder what it meant. Not yet.

The red-stained plastic tip snapped off in Akemi's throat. Sayaka slipped the second knife into her hand and stabbed again. Her fist was slippery with blood, her sleeves soaked in it. Again. Again.

Akemi sagged, dead weight in her arms. The clicking stopped.

"I told you to run!" shouted Sayaka again, driving the second knife into Akemi's jugular to leave it there. The third and final one could stay in her sleeve as insurance, until she had her real swords again. "Go!"

Madoka was frozen, horrified, staring down at the body as Sayaka let it fall in a bloodstained heap to the ground. She didn't move until Sayaka grabbed her arm and yanked.

"You—" Madoka choked on the words; Sayaka didn't care what she said or not as long as she kept moving up the stairs. "You killed—"

 _I know where my Soul Gem is!_ thought Sayaka with dizzy elation. Out loud, she added, "I know where a phone is!"

That shut Madoka up long enough for them to burst across the impossible threshold and out into a ground-floor corridor, bathed in sunset light.

 

***

 

At first Madoka couldn't understand why the walls of the corridor, and of the compact sitting room beyond it, were painted in such a brilliant spectrum of oranges and reds.

Then her eyes remembered how to see in light that wasn't the steady fluorescent of the cell, and she almost cried at the sight.

"There's a phone," repeated Sayaka, leading her across the bare pine floor. "Upstairs. She must be charging it in her room. Come on!"

"You...could have gotten it," panted Madoka as Sayaka dragged her into a chipped kitchenette piled with dirty dishes and food stains, then stopped to grab a towel from the handle of the fridge. "That...that was the plan!"

"Plans change," said Sayaka briskly, tossing back her hair and scrubbing as much blood as she could off of her hands. She missed a lot. It was under her nails; it had soaked into blotches up her sleeves.

"You did change them...right?"

"You've got some on your face," Sayaka told her, folding the towel over. "Hold still."

And she tried to dab Madoka's cheeks, like it was nothing, like Papa wiping off the wasabi sauce when Tatsuya tried to eat. ( _Unless he's gotten neater while I've been away...._ )

"You killed her!" wailed Madoka, throwing herself backward. She would have tripped over something if there were any furniture in the barren nook to trip over. "That wasn't the plan, right Sayaka-chan? Tell me I wasn't helping you kill her!"

Sayaka's shell of normality cracked. "You weren't!" she snapped. "You didn't know. That makes it my fault. And if I had to, I'd do it all over again! Now do you want to have blood on your face when you call your mother, or not?"

Twin tears ran down Madoka's cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut and let Sayaka dab them away with the rest.

It wasn't...murder. Right? It was self-defense, or at least love-of-self's-defense. Even if she had never imagined Sayaka capable of...of....

 _She's under a lot of stress right now. Captivity makes you lose perspective. Once we get out, I'm sure she'll go back to normal._

The towel got thrown on the pile of dishes molding in the sink as Sayaka led her to the foot of another staircase: this one out in the open, built of white-painted planks, with soft carpet on every step and windows spilling light at the bottom and the top. Out the bottom window Madoka could see bushes, parked bicycles, streetlights, the ceramic tiles roofing the properties across the street. They were somewhere in the middle of an ordinary block of two-floor tenement houses, in what could have been the borders of Mitakihara or any other modern city in Japan.

When Sayaka grabbed the bannister, her fingers left dull red marks on the paint.

Shaking, Madoka took the first step to follow...

...and gravity flipped directions, so that she was facing the ceiling when she landed, head spinning, on something soft.

 

***

 

Sayaka nearly twisted her wrist as she crashed face-first into a none-too-pliant surface while her body was mid-step.

Even with the sudden swimming between her ears, she recognized the bedroll instantly.

(But the light was wrong. Dark, too dark, with strange bright spots, and noises like scratching and the rushing of sand....)

Fighting the headache and the dizziness, Sayaka forced herself up onto hands and knees. The familiar breathing from across the tiny cell turned out to be Madoka, flat on her back on the blankets with Panda-san sitting calm as you please above her twintails.

"Madoka-chan!" cried Sayaka, then choked at a metallic click right behind her.

(Echoed by a ringing like dissonant bells, along with the flowing sand and something that smelled of lilies....)

Madoka turned her head, and went tissue-white. "Akemi-san, no! Please!"

"Give me one good reason Kaname Madoka," hissed an impossible voice, dangerous and trembling and all in one breath.


	11. I bet you think that's really wonderful!

**April 19  
(Continued)**

She was alive.

Madoka had watched her die. Had seen the light dull in her violet eyes as the blood poured from her jugular vein. The stains were still all over the floor, on Sayaka's sleeves, down the front of the white-and-purple uniform.

But Akemi Homura was alive, the skin on her throat raw and scabbing but no longer torn open, and she had a handgun aimed at the back of Sayaka's head. Her eyes were wide and staring, her breath ragged, though her gun arm was steady as a rock. Dried blood turned her violet collar black and her off-white bodice dark red.

"Please don't," repeated Madoka, so deep in shock that it left her voice hoarse and faint. "Put it away. Akemi-san, put it away!"

Sayaka twisted her body until she could stare down the barrel. Her jaw was set, lips trembling; she was furious as much as terrified, and in that moment Madoka adored her, would have done anything for her.

"Never should have brought her," hissed Homura. The purple gem on her hand was glowing with a pulse like a heartbeat, but there were impurities in it now, strange black flecks and whorls that blocked a third of the light while breaking the rest into discrete and shifting patterns. "Danger she's a danger should have known it. Should have killed her straight away."

"She isn't!" cried Madoka, improvising in a blind panic. There was a roaring in her ears, like sand being sifted at the beach. "It — it was my idea!"

Homura's eyes widened. In the dim room her pupils were huge and black. "As if my precious Madoka could think of such a thing."

"You want to kill me?" demanded Sayaka. She must have been as dizzy as Madoka, but she was getting to her feet with slow, deliberate movements that looked more confident than cautious. "Go ahead! Try it! And good luck getting your _precious Madoka_ to _ever_ forgive you if you do."

The boxy room was darker than it had any right to be; the light didn't seem able to reach the corners, as if the shadows had a life of their own. "I care about her safety not her feelings," snarled Homura. "It's not a thing _your kind_ could understand."

"All right!" croaked Madoka, forcing herself up on her elbows. "You're right. It was Sayaka's plan. I d-didn't even know. But—!"

There couldn't be...wind? But Homura's hair was gently drifting in _something_. "Monster," she hissed at Sayaka.

"But if you kill her — I — I'll kill myself!"

"No!" cried Sayaka.

Homura sucked in a breath. "You would never you could never."

"I could! Even if take away all the knives and sheets and watch me every second!" Madoka swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "If you don't think I would do anything to protect my — my _best friend_ — then you don't know me at all!"

She must have been queasy still — or maybe the floor had gone suddenly off-balance. The rushing in her head was a full cacophany now: an antique record being scratched, some kind of bells being thrown about in the wind. An earthquake outside? But no, it was everywhere....And it was so dark, the overhead light bulb a dim afterimage of itself, Homura's gem the one truly bright spot in the room....

"You can't," repeated Homura. Not unhinged and ruthless anymore, not the battle-hardened puella magi old before her time — her voice had switched into the shy and timid persona from their first meeting. "You can't not now you _can't_."

Sayaka's gasp carried through the clamor. "I'm sorry, Madoka-chan," she whispered; Homura didn't react, or maybe didn't hear. "I'm so sorry. I was such an idiot...."

The realization hit Madoka like a brick to the head. The distant sound of bells was the background tune when a monster spawned in _Kaguya Super Contract Z_.

"It's okay!" she cried, stumbling forward. No time to think of something clever; she had to go with her intuition, and pray she could reach the terrified Homura where the crazy one was shut down tight. "Homura-chan, it's okay! You can still protect me!"

Homura's head tilted at an unnatural angle, staring at her, or maybe through her. "Madoka...chan...?" she asked, near tears.

"That's right!" said Madoka, trying to sound encouraging. "And you're doing a great job so far! All you need to do is go upstairs without killing Sayaka-chan!" _Or me._

"And you'll be protected?" asked Homura, like a lost child.

"First you have to...to do the thing...." Madoka looked to Sayaka for help, but she was lost in a reverie of her own. "You have to clean up your Soul Gem! Just like you usually do. _Then_ I'll be protected."

"You promise?"

She was close enough to embrace Homura now, would have done it if Homura's finger hadn't been curled around that trigger. "I promise!"

The floor was going level again. The frenzied swirling in Homura's purple stone had died down; the distant cacophony was beginning to recede.

"I promise," repeated Madoka. The words Homura had used since the beginning, when announcing something on which she would never, without fail, let Madoka down.

Homura took one step back, then another. The gun began to sink toward the ground.

Madoka held her breath, hoping Sayaka wouldn't decide this was a great time to leap for it, praying her friend would avoid picking a fight just this once. She didn't need to worry. Sayaka's distraction was complete.

The light began to return.

"Because you would have made my Madoka a murderer's accomplice," hissed Homura, and Madoka's eardrums were deafened with the shot.

 

***

 

(It doesn't hurt as much as Sayaka thought it would.

In fact, if she's careful not to think about it in the first place, it doesn't hurt at all.)

 

***

 

The blank smile on Sayaka's face as she walked herself to the bathroom, unfazed by the gaping hole in her shin, scared Madoka more than anything else that day.

It was bright again, the two girls on their own once more, though the stench of Homura's death was still thick in the air. Madoka felt queasy as she lurked in the doorway between the two rooms, holding the first-aid kit and an armful of cotton nightshirt to supplement the bandages. "It really doesn't hurt?" she stammered. "You d-don't need any help?"

"I don't!" Water from the shower head flowed over Sayaka's leg, coming off bright red as she pressed the wound closed with both hands. "It's great that puella magi have this ability, isn't it? It's so great."

Madoka averted her eyes, unable to put the wrongness she felt into words. So many times Sayaka had put on a brave face to keep Madoka from worrying, but it had never been like this. Like the ordinary, frightened, wonderful human under the smiling outer shell had been scraped clean away.

"G-great," she agreed.

There was blood streaked on the floor between them. It was going to take the rest of their soap to scrub it up. Madoka wanted to start right away, but she still wasn't convinced Sayaka wasn't moments from going grey in the face and sliding to the floor.

While Sayaka was securing the ace bandage around the last of their sterile gauze and a thick layer of nightshirt, Madoka added, "And it's g-good you didn't kill Homura after all! Right?" (Sayaka twitched, shoulders stiffening.) "That is, uh...I don't mean I'm glad she shot you, or anything! But that h-her death isn't on your conscience, that's...."

"A failure," said Sayaka shortly.

"Sayaka-chan...!"

"Don't be naïve, Madoka! Don't you have any idea what almost happened there?"

"I...have a guess," admitted Madoka.

"Akemi was about to turn into a witch!" cried Sayaka, as if she'd known all along, as if she hadn't put it together in almost the same moment Madoka had. "You don't know the kind of monsters they are, but I do. She would have devoured us both, then gone on to sap the good feelings of anyone in the neighborhood she could reach!"

"But she didn't! Isn't that a good thing?"

"It would have been better if I'd killed her before she got the chance!"

One day, Madoka was going to run fresh out of tears. Today was not that day. "I don't want her killed at all! I don't want anybody killed!"

"That's why I did it — so you wouldn't have to! You should be grateful! Don't you understand? It's because I love you that I'm—"

"You don't love me!"

That got Sayaka's attention. Cold blue eyes fixed on Madoka. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's true!" Madoka all but sobbed. "You don't love _me_. You love — how I make you feel. Like a hero. Like the strongest person in the room. Homura thought you wished to help Kamijou-san because you would have, wouldn't you? Until she interfered...until you could turn your savior complex on someone even more helpless than he was!"

"It — it isn't like that!" cried Sayaka. The eerie singleminded fury was gone; she was shaking.

"All I needed was for you to be with me," countered Madoka. "And to find us a way out, if you could. But that wasn't dramatic enough for you, was it? You had to go without sleep, and hide your sprained ankle, and act like you couldn't let yourself kiss me even though there was _no good reason_ for it, and when all that didn't work you had to _stab_ someone! I bet you love it that you got shot. You get to act brave, and I have to make a fuss over you...I bet you think that's really wonderful!"

The shocked silence told her all she needed to know.

Madoka stepped back, one hand on the knob of the narrow door. It wouldn't lock, but it did shut. "I'm g-going to go change," she said thickly, and closed it between them.

 

***

 

(It doesn't hurt at all.

It _can't_ hurt. With all the people in the world who have it worse, she has no right to be in pain. Not someone as worthless as her.

She can't let it hurt.

She can't....)

 

***

 

Even with her discarded clothes piled over the largest of the bloodstains, Madoka couldn't pretend the room was normal.

She lay curled up on the bed in a loose T-shirt and shorts, pink hair falling loose across the pillow. The top sheet had been tossed on the floor, along with one of the stuffed rabbits, which had ended up with stains on its tummy and feet. At least the other plushies were okay. Though Panda-san was starting to get a bit threadbare from all the cuddling.

She wanted her mother.

Her guiding inner Mama-voice had faded, and of course her inner Sayaka had been overwritten by the genuine article. Her brilliant, beloved, self-destructing Sayaka-chan....

_—Do you want to help your friend, Kaname Madoka?—_

Madoka squeaked and nearly throttled Panda-san.

There had been a voice. In her head. Not one of her upbeat self-talk voices, but a cute, boyish, stranger's voice. _I'm going crazy too,_ she thought in despair.

 _—You are not displaying any of your culture's designated symptoms of insanity,—_ the mystery voice informed her. _—Is that comforting? I always have difficulty understanding how human emotions work.—_

 _Who ARE you?_ demanded Madoka. If this was a hallucination, she might as well go along with it. At least it would pass the time. _And what do you want?_

 _—I want whatever you want, Madoka,—_ replied the stranger cheerfully. _—That is to say, I want to grant you a wish. I say 'grant', but really it's your own power that I'm unlocking. You could help your friend, or anything else, if there's something you desire more.—_

Something she desired....

To help Sayaka. But there was Homura too, and Madoka wanted to help her, to reach whatever was left inside her of a normal human being. Could she make a multi-part wish? If so, why not heal Kamijou-kun too? Why not heal every hurt person in the world, while she was at it? But if that could be done, wouldn't some other girl have done it already? Madoka couldn't be the only girl who'd ever had the idea.

And what about her imprisonment? What about her family? She could help them, and Sayaka too, by wishing this whole thing had never happened...okay, then, so how to stop Homura from starting it again? Maybe if she wished away Walpurgis Night, so Homura wouldn't have to worry....

But Homura wasn't just protecting her from Walpurgis Night. Homura was also worried about wishes.

 _You're the Incubator,_ thought Madoka. There was no one else this could be, but she wanted to hear him say it.

 _—Most humans in this time and region call me Kyuubei,—_ said the Incubator. _—I can see that you already know something of pu—_

Silence. Or whatever you called it when telepathy abruptly cut off.

 _Are you still there?_ thought Madoka. _Incubator? Kyuubei!_

She "called" and listened for a minute or so longer, with no results. Either the Incubator had been a delusion after all, or it had chosen a bad time to come to a messy end.

 

***

 

(...it _hurts_.

Her head is full of knives like sharpened steel. There's blood on her hands that won't go away even when she closes her eyes.

There's nothing left for her to do but die.

She can't go on like this. She's risking harm to Madoka — the only thing she has no right to risk — and Madoka was willing just today to throw her life upon the line to save her friend, what kind of coward wouldn't dare repay in kind—

She has to die before—)

 

***

 

Maybe it was cowardice that stopped her, after all.

Maybe the image of Madoka crying out _that wasn't dramatic enough for you, was it?_ was a convenient excuse, a flimsy shroud for her inability to do the noble, heroic thing in the end.

It wasn't a decision. You can't use a word as strong as _deciding_ for someone sunk so far into the depths that she could barely think, let alone act.

All it was was a hollow girl drifting forward by one step, and then another.

 

***

 

"It isn't wonderful."

Madoka sat up straight, messy hair falling across her face. She hadn't heard the door open. Hadn't heard Sayaka crying, either, but Sayaka's voice was hoarse and raw, as if she'd packed an hour of sobbing into the past fifteen minutes.

" _I'm_ not wonderful," continued Sayaka faintly. Her head was bowed, eyes dull; she hugged herself with no passion, as if she was a doll that had been stitched that way. "I don't even know how to be good enough."

Madoka patted the bed beside her. "Sayaka-chan...come sit down, okay?"

Sayaka trudged across the dingy room. Every bit of blood spattered across the floor made her pause, as if she couldn't figure out how to get around it.

When at last she sank into the mattress at Madoka's side, Madoka thought about embracing her, or giving her Panda-san to cuddle, or saying something — any one of a hundred different things. Instead she held the toy in her own lap and rested one hand silently on Sayaka's back, the low-bent curve of her spine.

"You act...like I'm showing off how brave I am," began Sayaka at last. "I'm not brave. If you knew...if you could see...when Mami-san first told me about magical girls, and witches, I hesitated. Put it off for more than a week, did you know that? Not because I was planning the smartest wish or anything honest like that. I was scared."

"Anyone would be," said Madoka softly. Wouldn't they?

"We thought one of those monsters had killed you!" cried Sayaka. "I was going to let the creatures that murdered my best friend run wild. Let them keep on killing. Not do a single thing about it."

Madoka swallowed hard, but didn't interrupt.

"And when I did try to think of a wish, I could see...We have it so easy. There are girls with cancer, girls in war zones, girls whose families are starving. Why should someone like me...someone who has a happy life and doesn't even know how to appreciate it...get a chance like this? Of course I had to use it to help someone else." She choked. "And of course I thought about Kyousuke! There's not a day I don't think about — he was so good, he loved it so much, for him to lose the violin was the worst thing in the world—"

She was falling apart, hiccuping, tears rolling down her cheeks. Madoka bit down on her own trembling lip and rubbed her friend's back. "It wasn't your fault, Sayaka-chan. It wasn't anything to do with you."

"It should have been me!" shouted Sayaka. "What would I have lost? Softball? Texting? None of it comes close! And I could have saved him — I could have used my wish on him — if only I had known you were safe, that you weren't being locked up by some pervert — but I didn't, and now he's not just cursed to be disabled forever because of that drunk driver, he's cursed because _I made the wrong call_ —"

"Sayaka...!"

Her friend talked right over the protests. "—and now I'm trapped in this prison! I can't fight witches from here. I might _turn into_ a witch without ever having the chance to take out my share! All because I was stupid enough to wish to find you, but not to wish to get you safely home! I'm an idiot, I'm worthless as a puella magi, as a human I took everything for granted — so if there's anything I can do to help you, if it has even the smallest chance of working, of course I have to do it! If I don't, then what's the use of me existing?"

Madoka pulled her into an embrace then, arms tightening around her friend's body while Sayaka quaked and sobbed against hers.

"Don't," choked Sayaka, too wrung out to pull away but shaking her head all the same. "Don't, Madoka, you can't do this, Akemi's right, I'm a monster, don't deserve you."

"You're not a monster!" said Madoka, sure of it like she'd never been sure of anything in her life. "Remember what you said? Being locked up makes people not okay. I'm not okay! And you s-stabbed Akemi because you're not okay either, but once we're out of here we'll get better, and you'll be glad she didn't die, and then...."

"I tried to kill someone before!"

Madoka's lungs seized up in her chest.

"Or, or at least, I left him to die," sobbed Sayaka. "The box witch made people try to gas themselves, Hitomi and a whole bunch of others — Mami-san and I got them out after we killed the witch — she went back to get him, thought I missed him by accident, but I didn't. I didn't. It's the same as if I'd slit his throat myself."

It was impossible. She couldn't believe it. There had to be a reason.... "Sayaka...why would you do a thing like that...?"

"Because...because he said...." Sayaka was heavy in her arms, like an anchor, not holding her in place but sinking her. "You were on the news...he thought you were being m-molested — he said whoever had you was _lucky_."

Madoka felt sick.

Not, though, because of Sayaka.

_Never because of you._

"I d-don't regret it," added Sayaka, forcing the words out. "Would do it again. Would cut his throat myself if I had the chance. That...that's the kind of love I have for you, Madoka. I understand if it disgusts you...if you hate it, can't accept it...but it's the only kind I have."

Madoka closed her eyes and rubbed Sayaka's back, holding her still.

_The kind of love I have for you is...._

"You scare me, Sayaka," she confessed, in a small voice. "But that's all, understand? And for someone like that, even if you shouldn't kill them, maybe you _should_ scare them. I don't hate you. I can't...I could never...don't hide from me any more, okay?"

_I want to know everything about you. Even if it's scary or sad...it's still a part of my precious Sayaka._


	12. I think I met one in a dream, or something.

_She's running through a darkened concert hall, faceless figures in the seats too far away to make out, eerie blue light coming from everywhere and nowhere._

_The audience is well trained and on their best behavior. No whispering, no glints of winking cell phones, no children making a fuss. Perfect silence greets the exquisite strains of Bach on strings. The composer wrote for the lute, but those works of his have proved easy to adapt to the classical guitar._

_The only sound is Madoka's footsteps as she runs, wearing a pink Pretty Cure outfit, bow at the ready._

_She doesn't want to fire. All she wants is to find...someone. But she doesn't know where to start, and in the meantime she's prepared to loose as many arrows as necessary._

_The wheels come out of nowhere. Huge spinning wheels, rusted iron like something torn from an ancient and abandoned train. Madoka fires, two, three, five bolts of rosy energy, and the one bearing down on her explodes before it can crush her. There are other figures all around doing the same, girls in fluttery costumes with weapons that crash and clang, but she can't see any of them, and the rules of the dream mean she can't just turn and look._

_She thinks she sees the guitarist, out of the corner of her eye. (The name "Holger" whispers across her mind.) Another silhouette, but he's larger and closer, and looks almost familiar. If he'd been in the stance for playing violin...._

_More wheels. And familiars in the form of paper cutouts, ghastly dolls like the scribblings of an insane child. ("Klarissa.") Madoka fires until her arms are sore, runs until she stumbles and trips over her own ribbon-wrapped cherry-red shoes._

_Just when she thinks she's through the worst of it, the witch itself towers over her._

_It moves as if it's underwater, cape flowing, scales glistening. Rusted armor clanks and groans; it has recognizable hands for once, and in one of these is a shining sword four times the height of a human. Carved into the floor between Madoka and the monster is a sequence of etchings the size of her palm — for a second she thinks they're English words, but no, they're some kind of mystery alphabet with letters styled like musical notes._

_"Sayaka!" she screams, though it might be only in her head. "Sayaka, help me!"_

_Sayaka's too late. If she even hears. If she's in range at all._

_The blade comes down...._

 

***

**April 20  
Wednesday**

Madoka woke in the dark with a gasp.

At first she had no idea where she was — except that she could hear Sayaka's breath, which meant a sleepover, or somewhere else safe. Then she recognized the lights from the clock and the side of the sleeping laptop, the heavy feeling of the air and the stale smell she was beginning to get used to.

Sort of safe, then. More secure than her nightmares, at least. And still with Sayaka by her side.

Madoka rolled over to loop her arm across Sayaka's chest, and closed her eyes.

 

***

 

Sayaka stirred when Madoka got out of bed, though she could tell Madoka was being as gentle as possible. She kept her eyes closed and pretended to still be dreaming. No need to let Madoka know her gentleness had gone to waste.

A minute or so later the muffled spray of the shower came on in the other room. Time to get up now, right? True, her leg was still out of commission, on top of which she had a headache, and a puffy soreness around her eyes from all the sobbing the night before. But she could fix that. That was what magic was for, right? She was being lazy and useless and a waste of space if she didn't get her act together and fix it...

...but what was the point? Even at her physical best, what could she possibly do that she hadn't already tried?

_Keep myself distracted, keep so busy that I can't think too hard about...about everything...._

She lay still, deep in a slow and heavy sort of thought, until Madoka came out of the bathroom. Her eyes must have opened of their own accord at some point, though it wasn't until Madoka said, "Oh! You're awake!" that she took in her friend's casual clothing, the soaked-dark pink hair being wrung out section by section with a towel.

"Hi," she said softly. "You look nice."

Madoka turned as rosy as her hair. "Th-thanks. Are you feeling okay?"

Sayaka grimaced. "No."

"Oh!" exclaimed Madoka. "Of course you wouldn't be, that was stupid of me...Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?"

"Not okay," repeated Sayaka, "but it doesn't hurt. Not a lot."

A shaky, anxious smile. "Oh, good!"

"And...I can heal myself." Just saying the words was wearying, as if she had to drag them out of some dark underground pit. But she never could have forgiven herself if she didn't even say them. "If you want me to get up, I'll fix—"

"No!" said Madoka instantly. "No, Sayaka, don't even think about it. You are staying in bed and resting, or I...I'll sit on you!"

Sayaka stared at her for a long moment, then started giggling. _Maybe, when it's you saying it — even in such a silly way — I'll be able to listen._

When Madoka realized Sayaka wasn't laughing her off, she relaxed, self-conscious but pleased. "I'm going to try to clean up while you rest," she said. "I'll put on some music. Is there anything you want to hear?"

"Um...." Sayaka tried to remember the laptop's music folders. The rare albums from her iPod were clear as day, but the rest was all a blur. "Anything that isn't violin."

If Madoka was startled by this, she didn't show it. "Hey, Sayaka?" she asked as she clicked through folders. "This is probably a weird question, but did you ever know a guitar player?"

Now that was something Sayaka could have expounded on in her sleep. "There aren't a lot of classical guitarists in Japan," she said, the words coming automatically in spite of her exhaustion. "Yamashita Kazuhito is the most famous...I have his arrangement of Stravinsky, and the recording of a concert he did with the London Philharmonic, but I've never seen him in person."

"So you aren't friends with one, or anything."

"No, nothing like that? Why do you ask?"

"No reason," said Madoka, as a soulful Mars Reiko love song rang out of the speakers. "I think I met one in a dream, or something."

 

***

 

While Sayaka listened to the music, Madoka took a deep breath, flexed her arms, and set to work.

She began with the bloodstained sheet, carrying it to the tub and immersing all but a few unstained corners in cold water. They were almost out of soap, so she decided to hold it back for now. It wasn't necessary for the first round anyway: as she scrubbed folds of the fabric against each other, the water ran off them a dark and rusty red.

 _You can't afford to be squeamish,_ she told herself, every time her brain served up another persistent image of Homura stabbed, Homura's blood all over Sayaka's hands and spattered across her front. _You can't fix that. Not now. So focus on making better what you can._

Ever since Sayaka had been deposited here with her, Madoka had stopped conjuring up the voice of her mother for reassurance. Now she heard, not an imaginary version of Mama, but a remembered one. _Don't worry, Madoka-chan, it happens to almost every girl at some point. They're easy to get out, see? Just use a little bit of bleach or ammonia solution. But make absolutely sure you're in a room with good ventilation...._

Madoka almost laughed. Even if Homura had the impossible generosity to continue providing her with almost anything she could name, open air was the one thing she couldn't get.

 _You can use a small amount of salt or baking soda in the water,_ her mother had said. _And if you don't have that, cold water by itself is still very effective. Always cold, never hot._

She opened the drain and switched on the faucet. The sheets weren't pristine, probably never would be again, but the water that poured through it was notably clearer now.

 _That's my strong resourceful girl,_ said her mother's voice, and Madoka couldn't tell whether it was a memory, an imagining, or another thing she had dreamed.

 

***

 

"I should help with that," said Sayaka, without much conviction, as Madoka used the wet fabric to scrub crusted blood from the stone. The rug she had folded up and piled in one corner, a lost cause.

"You should rest," Madoka countered. "Do you want to shower? Or use the tub at all before I let this soak again?"

She didn't. So Madoka hauled the ad-hoc washcloth back to the other room and poured another round of water over it. When she returned, it wasn't to clean more, but to retrieve a plastic container of spring rolls from the fridge and sit with it on the end of the bed.

"They're cold," she said, after spearing a bite of one on a plastic fork and taking a bite, "but good. Are you ready for lunch?"

Sayaka tried to figure out if she was hungry. All she felt was blank. "Is it lunch time?"

"It's lunch time if you need to eat," said Madoka with simple practicality. She watched Sayaka's face for a moment, then added, "Sayaka, I think you need to eat."

A knight, even a useless knight, could hardly refuse an order from her lady. "Okay."

 

***

 

While she was hanging the dripping sheet over the curtain rod, Madoka felt a shadow pass over her mind like a cloud in front of the sun, and automatically ducked into the other room to look at the clock. Her instincts were good: it was two minutes before Homura was scheduled to make her daily visit.

Madoka took a moment to wash her hands, with soap, and review how far she'd gotten. There was still cleaning to be done, but to her eyes the floor, at least, was spotless. In the meantime she had coerced Sayaka into choking down half a spring roll and a cup of water. Sayaka, who was asleep again.

The laptop had switched over to a playlist of symphonies in French, German, Italian, Greek: the creations of Stravinsky, Lizt, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the London Philharmonic. As far as Madoka could tell, they were all about tracing the arcs of mythical figures. _Faustus, Prométhée, Dante, Mephistopheles, Perséfone._

Madoka muted it and gave Sayaka a gentle shake. "She's coming."

Sayaka woke. She even managed to sit up.

But Homura didn't come.

 

***

 

Five minutes after Homura should have been there:

"She's only ever been late once." Madoka cradled Sayaka's head in her lap, running a damp comb through her tangled hair. "That was the day she brought you in. So it's only when she has something really serious to deal with, you see?"

"I wasn't serious to her," said Sayaka. "Even when I was armed and heading straight here...I was never a threat." She started breathing more quickly, anxiety taking over. "She got me so easy. And so fast. Didn't even know it was her...."

"Is that why you did it?" asked Madoka in a small voice. "To make her see you as a threat again?"

Sayaka fought to take slow, hoarse gulps of air. The confession, when it came, was forced out in a desperate hiss: "I hate that I'm only alive because she pities me."

Madoka swallowed over the lump in her throat. The answer should have gone without saying; she said it anyway. "I love that you're alive, and I don't care how."

 

***

 

Thirteen minutes after Homura should have been there:

Lying on her stomach, face turned into Madoka's thigh, Sayaka shivered. "Madoka...if we start running out of food, I...."

"We won't run out of food."

"But if...!"

"We have plenty," said Madoka firmly. "And we have fresh water, which is more important. And she won't let me starve."

There was a method to Homura's madness, no matter how deep it ran. In spite of everything else, she was still able to believe that.

 

***

 

Twenty-six minutes after Homura should have been there:

"It's my fault," whispered Sayaka. "She's punishing me, and you with me."

"It isn't your fault." Madoka tucked Sayaka's dampened blue locks over her shoulder and began digging small fingers into the tense muscles of her back. How could Sayaka find it so easy to say these things to everyone but herself? "None of this would have happened if she hadn't locked us down here in the first place."

 

***

 

Fifty-four minutes after Homura should have been there:

"We should eat the strawberries," decided Madoka, after looking through the fridge one more time. "Most of the food we can save, but they'll go bad soon."

Sayaka sat up for this, clipping her hair back accepting the plate Madoka had rinsed for her. She picked up one of the specked red fruits and stared through it. "I wonder how my parents are doing."

"They're probably very worried," said Madoka, and fell silent, giving Sayaka space to respond. Was this the first time Sayaka had stopped long enough to think about her parents, or had she been worried about them all along, and was only now letting herself open up to Madoka about it?

"Probably," was all Sayaka answered, before letting the subject drop.

 

***

 

"They must think it's a serial kidnapper," said Sayaka later, when Madoka had stopped counting the minutes and started dusting. "Some creep with a fetish for Mitakihara's uniforms, or something. I bet they have people watching the school, trying to keep the other students safe."

"That would make sense," agreed Madoka. "I hope they do."

"I hope Hitomi's okay," added Sayaka.

"Mmhmm."

Sayaka was silent for another long while. "When Akemi told you someone would be automatically called if she died...did she say how long it would take?"

"I don't remember," confessed Madoka.

Sayaka's eyes fell closed. "Okay."

 

***

 

The sheet hanging over the shower rod was almost dry, the floor within the bathroom scrubbed to a dull shine. Before they went to bed for the night, Sayaka leaned on Madoka and limped over, where she unwound the wrapping from her leg and rinsed it off.

She was healing fast, faster than a normal human. The wound had been replaced with an ugly, jagged scar, and though her leg was purple with bruises, it wasn't rotting and she had no trouble wiggling her toes. Her blood still flowed around the bullet, maybe around bone fragments too — she couldn't be sure. Her own body, and she didn't know what it was doing.

It taxed her pride to ask Madoka to all but carry her back, but if she healed her leg at the cost of the last of her magic, the cost would be infinitely worse. At least she was able to wrap up her leg again without letting Madoka see.

 

***

 

"I wonder if Mami knew," said Sayaka into the darkness.

"I don't know," admitted Madoka. She was the one draped across Sayaka this time; gunshot wounds were not conducive to spooning. "Homura said they couldn't be friends, but she would never tell me why."

"She was all BFF with Kyuubei," muttered Sayaka. "And he must have known. Madoka, promise me you'll stay far, far away from him, okay?"

"I promise." Madoka decided not to point out that Homura had locked her up in the first place on the belief that she wouldn't, or couldn't, do exactly that. "Only...Sayaka? I don't know what he looks like."

Sayaka laughed a little at that, and told her.

The image in Madoka's mind of a great threatening mountain of darkness was wiped away, and she fell asleep picturing different kinds of cute plush cat-rabbits with ruby eyes and golden rings around their extra ears.

 

***

 

_She's running through a darkened ballroom, silhouetted figures drifting across the floor with steps too soft to hear, eerie red light coming from everywhere and nowhere._

_There's music, but it's a dissonant screech, the wail of a tortured cat or a tortured violin. Madoka wants to block it out, but she can't run and cover her ears and hold her bow all at once, so she grits her teeth and bears it._

_The blades come out of nowhere. Huge steel scythes, all shapes and lengths and styles, pre-spattered with rust-red stains. The ones that miss Madoka tear through the silhouettes, spraying more blood across the floor; she slips and stumbles and forces herself back up, arrows going wild. She can't see any of her comrades, can't even hear them over the clanging and the wails. All she can do is pray they won't die before she finds whoever she's looking for._

_As she's climbing the grand staircase, Madoka catches sight of another silhouette, large and familiar against the scarlet glow. A woman, dancing alone. ("Perséfone.")_

_Before she has time to wonder at it, the witch itself towers over her._

_It moves like an undead thing, slow and ponderous, cape torn like a burial shroud. Rusted armor clanks and groans; it has recognizable hands for once, bloodstained all the way up the gloves, and in one of these is a shining dagger as tall as Madoka herself. Carved into the floor between Madoka and the monster is a sequence of etchings the size of her palm — she tries to sound out the English, GRUOCH INGEN BOITE, but they aren't any words she can recognize even before they dissolve into the mystery alphabet with letters styled like musical notes._

_"Sayaka!" she screams, though it might be only in her head. "Sayaka, help me!"_

_Sayaka's too late. If she even hears. If she's in range at all._

_The blade comes down...._

 

***

**April 21  
Thursday**

This time she woke up sweating, tears drying on her cheeks.

Witches. Her dreams were battles with witches, and the details were too clear, too solid, to be things her subconscious had made up out of whole cloth. But the people who fought alongside her, people who deserved to be remembered, valiant and loyal and true — she couldn't even picture them. What was wrong with her?

_Am I getting a premonition of the future, or remembering something that never happened?_

She stumbled to the bathroom. The overhead lights stayed off; she had their little space memorized, could have walked it in pitch dark, could have danced here in her sleep and never missed a step.

But by the time she had gotten a splash of water down her dry throat, she was awake enough that the vivid scene of a ballroom full of stained knives had faded, and the question that seemed so profound now sounded ridiculous. Madoka was having bad dreams, that was all. Her brain was taking what she had seen of Homura's near-demise, and mocking up its own version with the imagery of Utenian surrealism and the eldritch horrors of Sailor Moon....

_—I'm very sorry we were cut off earlier, Kaname Madoka.—_

Madoka clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. _Y-y-you!_

_—Me. I understand it is impolite in your culture to disappear mid-conversation. Unfortunately, I was...inconvenienced. Is it by intention or accident that Akemi Homura is protecting your location?—_

_Intention,_ thought Madoka. _Definitely intention. Can you get past her?_

 _—She is not currently patrolling in the direction from which I am approaching—_ said the Incubator: Kyuubei, the fluffy white mascot who for all Madoka knew might have understood nothing or masterminded everything. _—She does have a surprisingly elaborate system of defenses in place, of a tactical quality I have not experienced before in adolescent humans. However, if you have a reason to want to see me face to face, I believe I will be able to bypass it. For example, if you have decided on a wish?—_

Madoka was wide awake now, every nerve on edge. _I don't have a wish...yet, Incubator-san,_ she replied, hedging, leaving every door open. _But I have an idea. Let's work together, okay?_

 

***

 

"Sayaka, wake up!"

Sayaka did. Hard not to, with Madoka shaking her like that. "Huh...?"

"I need you to listen to me and do exactly as I tell you, okay?" said Madoka, as intense and determined as Sayaka had ever seen her. "It's really, really important. Even if something seems weird or doesn't make sense, I need you to trust me."

"Of course," said Sayaka. Of course she would. If there was anything she could do in this state that would make her more useful to Madoka, why wouldn't she leap at the chance?

Madoka broke into an anxious smile. "Great! Do you have to go to the bathroom? No, it doesn't matter, you should go anyway. Come on, let me help you up."

When Sayaka came out of the bathroom, leaning heavily on the doorframe, Madoka was fully dressed and doing up her hair in its old twintails: twisting a sky-blue ribbon into half of the pink mass while holding the ribbon for the other half in her mouth.

She smiled encouragingly at Sayaka, finished the first ribbon, pulled the second out from between her lips, and said, "Whatever you feel when it happens, look happy, okay? Don't look suspicious or angry or confused or anything, just act like you think everything is great."

Sayaka, who had no idea what she was talking about, could only nod.

Then came the thump — very close by — right next to her, maybe, but no, that was only the wall....

...and then the grate of the air duct, the one she had so painstakingly unscrewed over so many hours way back what seemed like a lifetime ago, popped neatly off what she had left of its screws and hit the stone with a clang.

 _—So this is where you've been, Miki Sayaka,—_ said Kyuubei into both their heads, hopping cheerfully into the room with Sayaka's Soul Gem tucked in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Sayaka made such an uncharacteristic wish in this timeline, she's about to transform into a different uniform, has access to a different set of powers, and would turn into a different witch. Gruoch ingen Boite was the historical figure who inspired Lady Macbeth.


	13. (Volume II) Can you make it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter marked the end of what I'm going to call Volume I (informally subtitled "In"). And now on to the second half of the story, Volume II, "Out"....

**April 21  
(Continued)**

_It's easiest to act when you're playing something close to the truth,_ remembered Sayaka, sinking to her knees and catching her long-neglected Soul Gem in her hand. She was furious at Kyuubei, and couldn't even be sure of the true extent of his betrayal, but in that moment she was relieved beyond all reason. So she used it.

 _—Didn't Mami tell you not to lose track of this?—_ chided Kyuubei. _—It's the sign of all your power, you know.—_

"We'll talk about it later!" said Sayaka, blinking back happy tears. The jewel was in its egg-shaped form, gold setting encasing a deep blue surface spotted and splotched with black. She was down to less than a fifth of her power, but it was enough for what she had to do. "Madoka — watch me, watch me!"

And she was enveloped in blue light, swimming in it, her heart dancing.

Madoka stared in awe as the boots of the puella magi Sayaka hit the ground. A pure-white cape swirled out from her shoulders, fastened at her throat with a collar embossed in gold thread; the pleats of a rich blue skirt with white trim fluttered on her hips, held in place by a belt with a gold buckle. She wore a knight's breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves, all in blue with gold edges, while her arms and legs were clad in skintight navy leather that protected her skin while hugging her athletic curves. Lacy frills, diamond buttons, and her Soul Gem completed the ensemble: the gem itself in the shape of a darkness-spattered blue shield, locked in a gold setting over her heart.

"Sayaka," breathed Madoka. "It's amazing!"

Grinning, Sayaka drew a sword from the air. The blade gleamed silver; the gold and blue hilt fit snugly in her gloved hand, gold tassels spilling over her wrist. It felt like she could take on a dozen Akemis with this, or a hundred witches. It felt like she could do anything.

So she dropped to her knees and leaned forward on the blade, its point biting into the stone floor like sod. "What would you have me do, my lady?"

"Your leg. Do you have enough power to heal it? Be completely honest."

Sayaka palmed her Soul Gem. "I won't be strong enough to fight a witch afterward...but I can."

"Good. Do it." Madoka clapped her hands together. "Kyuubei! Is Akemi Homura still out of range?"

 _—She is currently engaged in a battle with a witch, in an area out of visual and auditory range of this building,—_ confirmed Kyuubei.

"Good." Madoka made a darting motion toward the stairs, then hopped back and grabbed the stuffed panda from the pile of plushies. Tucking him under one arm, she pointed with the other. "Sayaka! The door."

 

***

 

Three silver slashes, and the heavy metal door that had been the end of Madoka's world for almost a month shattered and was kicked out of the way like so much stage glass.

"We'll need money," ordered Madoka. "And hats, hoods, something like that. And find me some shoes!"

In a quick circle of the first level Sayaka found Madoka's own pair of loafers, a stash of thousand-yen bills, and a couple of hooded raincoats in black and dull brown. "The phone isn't here," she announced.

"We'll make do." Madoka stuffed Panda-san in the inner pocket of her oversized raincoat. "What about...however you clean your Soul Gem?"

"Grief Seeds," said Sayaka. "None here. Akemi must have all of hers on her."

 _—This is a most irregular conflict you have gotten yourselves into,—_ observed Kyuubei.

"Not now," Madoka scolded him. "Sayaka, what's the safest path to a train station?"

"The safest path to anywhere off this block is narrow," said Sayaka, leaning against the back door. Outside was grey, a rainstorm either about to break or having just passed. "Akemi has traps. You have to follow me exactly, okay?"

Madoka took her outstretched hand. "I promise."

 

***

 

And then they were out.

 

***

 

The street was full of puddles. Sayaka's sturdy boots barely noticed, but Madoka's loafers must have soaked through.

They jogged the first block, until Madoka was gasping for breath and tripping over nothing. Sayaka herself was starting to feel the burn of needing to use magic to keep the pace up, so she slowed to a walk and put her arm around Madoka's waist. "The train station is in five blocks. Can you make it?"

"If we walk," panted Madoka. "Let's walk. Will people notice Kyuubei...?"

 _—Normal people with no potential cannot see me,—_ said Kyuubei, who had been trotting easily behind them at any pace. _—You will not be conspicuous.—_

Sayaka had to grit her teeth to keep from yelling at the little rat. Madoka hadn't given her permission, so she wouldn't start in on him, but oh, how she wanted to. _Normal people also won't hear if we use telepathy, because it involves using Kyuubei as a relay._

 _Thank you,_ thought Madoka, and squeezed her arm. _You didn't mention that before, Incubator._

 _—The opportunity never came up,—_ replied Kyuubei.

Sayaka bit her tongue. Don't say it, don't say it....

 _Is that also why you never told Sayaka that magical girls turn into witches?_ asked Madoka. Physically she was still breathing hard; mentally she had a scary sort of calm.

_—Yes.—_

Sayaka tensed, and Madoka seemed startled herself. _You admit it? Just like that?_

 _—It was never a secret,—_ said Kyuubei, as blandly as if he were letting them know the weather. _—You could have asked at any time.—_

 _You didn't think we might want to know?_ burst out Sayaka. _That the things we're fighting are—are—!_ She cut off as Madoka gave her a sharp jab in the ribs.

_—Witches and their familiars are a cause of grief, despair, and even death among other humans, a problem which every female adolescent I have contracted with seeks to avoid. As long as they are told to clean their Soul Gems, what purpose would it serve to know the reason? Many die before it even becomes an issue.—_

The houses were giving way to taller buildings, convenience stores and restaurants filling the areas at street level. There were even people, strangers, bundled up in raincoats or at least with umbrellas at the ready.

 _But the reason witches exist is because you introduced puella magi here in the first place,_ pointed out Madoka. _Why? What possible reason could you have for doing something like that?_

Kyuubei told them.

Sayaka felt sicker and more dismal with every word. He explained in the simplest of terms about the end of the universe, the way magic was rigged to run on the pain of teenage girls, how humans in the eyes of his species were worth as much as cows or pigs. All with the same sociopathic false cheer he had used when making her the original offer she couldn't refuse.

 _How much of this does Mami know?_ thought Madoka, as they approached the glass-and-metal awning that covered the train stop's benches. A couple of ticket-selling machines sat dripping outside the gates.

_—She never asked about any of it, and I never told her.—_

A wave of relief broke through Sayaka's generally miserable mood. Her senpai hadn't been keeping secrets. Mami just didn't know.

 _Then, Incubator, I know all I need to know,_ thought Madoka. _Go away._

_—Excuse me?—_

_You heard me. Shoo. Get out of my sight! If your deceitful presence is still within reach in thirty seconds, I'll have Sayaka here slice your head clean off your body._

_—I will never understand humans,—_ said Kyuubei, and trotted away, fluffy tail swishing behind him.

 

***

 

They had just gotten under the platform when it started to rain again.

"I think I need to detransform," said Sayaka, in a voice so low Madoka almost missed it. "Is that okay?"

"What? Of course! Yes, do that right away," stammered Madoka, distracted. Her feet squished in her wet socks, and why hadn't she brought some of the food? "Oh...your feet, are they going to be all right?"

Only Sayaka's ordinary socks now stuck out from under the black raincoat. "I think so," she said, clutching the egg-shaped gem in one hand and touching the other to each foot. The socks glowed and bulged under her fingertips, then morphed into navy leather boots with sapphire-studded silver buckles. "This kind of change...it's easier than being in battle mode. Costs almost nothing."

"That's good," said Madoka, and winced as her stomach growled. "Sorry...."

Sayaka offered her a weak smile. "Don't worry. Just wait until we get to Mami's house. We'll be safe there — she'll probably have Grief Seeds — she can help us call our parents — and best of all? She bakes."

 

***

 

It was pouring in earnest when the metro arrived.

Because of the weather, the cab was packed. Sayaka and Madoka squeezed into the mass of people, hoods up, arms linked. Madoka started breathing hard again and had to be pulled in by Sayaka, though they hadn't been running at all.

"Are you okay?" murmured Sayaka as the metro rumbled forward.

"S-so many people," gasped Madoka. There was a tall man in a puffy jacket right behind her, and a businesswoman holding the strap to her right while playing a game on her cell phone, and a young woman grabbing on to her boyfriend instead of a strap or pole who kept bumping into Sayaka, and a couple of fussing children two seats down, and.... "I don't know these people. Sayaka, I don't know them."

Sayaka was torn between comforting her and yelling at her. It had to be some kind of internal trauma, not something Sayaka was doing wrong, but still! What did she want, an escape route that felt exactly like the place they were escaping from? "Wasn't that the point?" she demanded. "Would you rather be back with Akemi? At least you know her, right?"

"That isn't what I meant!" said Madoka weakly. "Sayaka, please...."

It took all Sayaka's strength in that moment to give her a one-armed hug rather than snapping again. _Almost there. It's only forty minutes to Mami's stop. You'll get a Grief Seed soon._ "Just think about me. And Panda-san," she huffed. "You know us."

(Although what did Madoka need a gift from Akemi for, anyway? What kind of comfort was that supposed to be? Didn't she know how inadequate it made Sayaka feel? Didn't she appreciate...?)

"Talk to me about something else," she said, panting a little herself now. "Anything else."

Madoka closed her eyes and turned her head against Sayaka's chest. "The first thing I want to bake is red velvet cake with buttercream frosting and chocolate chips," she said. "The next thing I want to bake is breaded fish patties. The third thing I want to bake...I think bread, with red bean paste inside. The fourth...."

 

***

 

Madoka listed foods until she couldn't think of any more, then went over her favorite stuffed animals back home, then summarized the plot of the last movie she had seen.

It helped, a little, with ignoring the chaotic press of _people people people_. She kept wanting to look at the clock, but of course it wasn't there. She would move to put on some soothing music, and remember that she couldn't. There was no fresh water on hand, nothing to eat. All she had was a stuffed panda, wet feet, and a Sayaka whose brief resurgence of happiness hadn't stuck.

"This is our stop," muttered Sayaka at last.

WIth a dozen other people they exploded out onto the platform. Madoka held Sayaka's hand and squished down the stairs behind her, the faintness dissipating as the crowd dispersed.

"I don't know where we are," she whispered as they passed a line of waiting buses and a handful of convenience stores and pastry shops targeting busy passengers. The downpour here had tapered off to a light rain, still enough to obscure the skyline. "I don't know this place at all."

Sayaka hissed through her teeth. "When we were inside you could have looked at the station map."

"I know. I'm sorry." Madoka tried to pull herself together. Sayaka had been happy to follow her lead when she seemed like she knew what she was doing. "How far is Mami's place from here?"

"Not quite as far as _that house_ was from the last station. Across the bridge."

A walk she could make, if she had to. But she didn't like it. "Can you find a vending machine first? Something with food?"

The stores would be fresher, but the machines were less likely to recognize them from photos on the news. They had more than enough cash left for sweet buns and a couple of cheap sodas. Madoka drank half of hers in one go, and munched on the bun as they walked across the commuter bridge, not caring that the drizzle got it soggy.

As they passed the third or fourth identical apartment complex, Sayaka steered Madoka into the parking lot.

"We're here."

 

***

 

Nobody answered her knock, so Sayaka used the barest fraction of her power to transmogrify Mami's lock into not-a-lock, letting it slide back to its ordinary form as soon as they were inside.

While Madoka closed the door, Sayaka all but sprinted away from her. No time to explain. There was a Grief Seed in Mami's room — no, two! — and one of them nearly empty, thank all that was good in this world.

Sayaka yanked open the relevant desk drawer without once looking at anything else, collapsed onto Mami's white sheets, and cupped the wrought-iron seed against her nearly-black gem.

It was like stones being rolled off her chest, like trying to walk underwater and suddenly being transported into the open air. It was orgasmic; it was transcendent. Still in her dirty raincoat, Sayaka curled up in the fetal position and sobbed.

 

***

 

With the door closed behind her, the lingering tightness in Madoka's chest dissipated.

She thought vaguely that Sayaka had run for the bathroom, and shrugged off her coat onto the rack by the door before exploring in the other direction, anxious to get a feel for this new enclosed space that was still so startlingly wide. They had come into a nice sitting room, sparsely furnished but easy on the eye, with with tall windows all down one wall and a striking wedge-shaped table.

One end of the apartment was a kitchen, fully furnished and almost spotless; a few dishes were piled in the sink and there was a smear of some kind of sauce on the counter, but it was nothing like the mold-infested cesspool Homura's had been. An electric kettle next to the sink had been unplugged...and a cell phone plugged in.

Madoka was staring at the phone like an alien object when she heard the first cry.

She found Sayaka in the room on the far side of the unit, knees to her chest, hugging her gold-encased Soul Gem and something darker. "Sayaka!" exclaimed Madoka, running to the bed. "What's wrong? What can I do?"

"Fine," choked Sayaka, rubbing her eyes with the corner of a pillow. "T-tissues? I swear, I'm fine...."

Madoka didn't know whether to believe it, but she scanned the room anyway. It was a elegant girl's bedroom, sparse as the living room but with a mature feeling nonetheless. A few pieces of white-painted wooden furniture with yellow and orange accents stood alone in the space, tied together by a pretty flower motif in the handles on drawers, the print on the curtains, the designs on the pillows. No tissues, almost no items at all except a cup full of pens and a handful of picture frames.

"Hold on," she said, and ran for the final door.

It was another Western-style bathroom, done up with the kind of decorative soap dispensers Madoka thought only adults were interested in. Mami really must be an elegant, adult type of senpai, then...Ah! Tissues, in a pretty orange box.

Grabbing the whole thing, Madoka carried it to Sayaka, who went through them by the handful.

When she tried to sit with Sayaka, she reflexively moved to avoid the blood stains on the side of the mattress before remembering that there weren't any.

 

***

 

At last the tears receded. Sayaka dropped the last entry onto the pile of crumpled tissues on Mami's end table and set, somewhat sheepishly, to getting out of the raincoat.

"I'm better," she said to Madoka, who had waited by her side this whole time. She thought it might be from the agoraphobia, and her heart swelled with protectiveness; but even if it was loyalty and care, Sayaka was past being bitter at herself for needing it. For now, at least. "I...I didn't realize how bad it was. Even when I tried to remember what normal felt like, all I was remembering was less-bad...."

She put the half-full grief seed gingerly on the table and showed Madoka the brilliant blue gem, struggling against a sudden fit of shyness.

"I was...pretty awful to you, wasn't I? You didn't even do anything."

Madoka faltered, then allowed a shy smile of her own. "I knew you didn't mean it."

Sayaka swallowed. While the gut-wrenching self-loathing had pulled its claws out of her, she couldn't honestly say it was gone. It had always been there, like a shadow at the corner of her vision...and she had always dealt with it by denying it, disowning it, pretending everything was fine and refusing to even think about her own frailties as long as she could.

Because Madoka was with her, and nobody else, she found the strength to say instead, "I'm glad he didn't die."

"I know," said Madoka gently. And then, in a move that sealed Sayaka's love for her forever, she changed the subject. "Can I touch it?"

Her slim hand hovered close to the Soul Gem's shining surface. Sayaka shrugged. "It's pretty, but it just feels like a stone. Go ahead."

The tips of Madoka's fingers skimmed along the curved stone.

And, _oh_. Maybe it felt like rock to Madoka, but to Sayaka it felt like a caress sweeping directly over her skin. Like Madoka's gentle cuddling, the soothing massage for her taut muscles. Within a few seconds a new sensation bubbled up under the first wave, like _those_ touches, the ones that made her skin burn and her pulse throb between—

Madoka threw her arms around Sayaka's shoulders, and the spell was broken. (If she noticed the lingering flush on Sayaka's skin, she didn't comment.) "I'm so glad you're okay! I'm so happy, Sayaka. And now...Mami-san left her phone in the kitchen." She shivered with emotion. "Once she gets home from school, we can call our parents."

Sayaka squeezed her thighs together and tried to focus on petting Madoka's hair. "Why aren't we calling them now? I'm sure Mami-san wouldn't mind, not for this."

"Too much we don't know. Homura knows what the inside of my house looks like, did I tell you that? She's had it watched, she might have the phones bugged...if she finds out where we are and gets here when it's just us...." She tensed. "I'm sorry, Sayaka, I know you want to be strong and protect me, but you can't do it alone."

"Yeah, I know," said Sayaka, patting her on the back to show there were no hard feelings. "Even if I were twice as tough as Akemi, I'm still not a team. And we need a team, right? That's how the heroes always win in the anime."

"Right," breathed Madoka, relaxing. "As long as I don't have to be the mundane best friend who gets written off after the first season because the team is more interesting."

"Never," declared Sayaka. What kind of idiot could lose interest in her beloved Madoka? "I'm going to love you forever and ever. Until cancellation and beyond!"

Madoka giggled, then pulled back and tipped her head to brush their lips together.

Sayaka returned the kiss in earnest, cupping the back of Madoka's head to hold herself steady and pulling sweetly at Madoka's mouth with her own. She was in love, they were free, and everything was going to be okay.

 

***

 

In the kitchen, with only small windows instead of floor-to-ceiling ones, Madoka closed the shades on a darkening grey night and made herself and Sayaka some tea.

They were trading turns on Mami's phone to browse the Internet, sharing what they found. The news about their own names was grim: no leads, somber police officers, quotes from their parents that Madoka could hardly bring herself to read.

_Almost there, Mama. We're almost ready to tell you we're safe. Just hang on a little longer._

Sayaka looked up a couple of baseball scores, then found a photo of Mami in an article from a few years earlier, about a prizewinning middle school dance competition. At last Madoka had a face to put to the name: a kind-eyed girl with blonde twintails in gentle curls. If there were more recent pictures on the phone itself, both she and Sayaka had the honor not to go snooping.

As Madoka was looking up plot spoilers for an anime she had been following up until last month, the front door rattled.

She froze, pinned by the complicated, hopeful, dependent uncertainty that Homura's footsteps always evoked. From the way Sayaka's eyes had snapped to her, she knew her friend... _girlfriend_...was feeling something similar. Harrowing crowd experience on the metro notwithstanding, they were too well-conditioned to the notion that when a door opened, there was only one person who might walk through.

Then they both snapped out of it, and leaped to their feet.

Madoka was the first one to skid to a stop. The newfound fear of strangers had seized her again, making her heart race and her muscles lock. Besides, Sayaka had to take a couple more steps to leap in front of her.

The visitor was a girl about their age, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail, one hand clutching a half-eaten fish pastry. Her scuffed boots and shabby denim were clearly not a puella magi uniform, but a silver ring on the other hand glinted as she produced a red and gold spear. "Who are you an' what are you doing here?" she demanded.

Sayaka flung out her own Soul Gem hand and materialized a sword, flashing with blue light. "I could say the same of you!" she shot back. "We're here to see Tomoe Mami. It's none of your business why."

The stranger relaxed with an unfriendly smirk. "Good luck with that," she said. "Tomoe Mami died last week, so you're gonna be in for a long wait."


	14. You must be new at this.

**April 21**  
**(Continued)**

The house was dark and quiet. In the garden outside, half a crop of prize cherry tomatoes had already died on the vine.

It was a bad night. The latest in a string of them. He hadn't been sleeping, even with the new pills the doctor had handed out, the green ones too big for him to dry-swallow. His wife was staying out later, working harder, so it was just him and the baby. And of course the baby knew something was wrong, wasn't laughing or running around or learning new words any more, just crying and thrashing and repeating the old ones over and over.

_Mama Papa no no no Madoka!_

The phone was never far away, never out of his pocket if possible. His was the number the police had, the number they would call any hour of the day or night to say things like _we have a possible lead_ and _sorry, it didn't get anywhere_ and _can you tell us again if your daughter had any connection with...?_

No, there were no boys. Definitely no men. And no — were they insane? — what would his sweet gentle fourteen-year-old possibly have to do with the Yakuza?

The baby was finally down in a fitful sleep, allowing him to retreat to the bedroom. He knew he should at least try to clean the kitchen or something with all these extra waking hours, but all he had the strength to do was gulp down one of the pills, turn on the white-noise machine, and keep the bed warm for whenever his wife made it home.

 

***

 

The look of shock on the blue-haired puella magi's face was really irritating. Was she such a rookie she didn't even know how often people like them died? Kyoko felt her smirk fading into a scowl. "I guess you knew her, then. Or did you just hear about her, and decide to pin all your hopes on her helping you with something? You must be new at this."

"I knew her!" snapped blue-hair. "She was my senpai, and she was amazing! Don't you dare brush her off like that!"

 _She was my senpai first!_ thought Kyoko, and that made it all the more infuriating: that this girl had the gall to go and betray Mami, who had already been betrayed once. "Seriously? What kind of lousy kouhai are you, letting your senpai die and not even noticing?"

Blue-hair didn't take that well, gripping the hilt of her sword so hard it had to be sending shooting pains up her hand. "You have no right to talk about things you don't understand."

"Uh-huh." Kyoko flashed her teeth in a feral grin. _C'mon, rookie, give me a reason to beat you up. I wouldn't need much of one._ "Look, you wanna fight about this, or what? Because if not, quit wasting my time and move over. There's a bowl of shrimp soba in the fridge I have dibs on."

The air around blue-hair glowed and sparked cerulean. Another heartbeat and her uniform would be exploding into existence. A battle right here would probably flatten the apartment building, but what the hell, it would be a quick way to get rid of a lot of bad memories....

...and then the pink-haired girl, small and pale and with no sign of a Soul Gem ring, pulled at blue-hair's arm. "Sayaka," she said in a timid little voice, the intimacy of it giving Kyoko a start. "If Mami-san is really dead, the food shouldn't go to waste."

That prompted a smile of actual approval. No matter what else their damage was, anyone who respected food got respect from Kyoko. "You, I like," she declared, before jerking her head at blue-hair. "Listen to your friend once in a while, why don'cha? She's obviously got a good head on her...shoulders...hang on a sec."

The name Sayaka...she'd heard it somewhere, right? And the two faces, one framed by blue hair and one pink...if you made them a little less deathly pale, took that kind of paranoid gleam out of their eyes...she'd assumed it was from coming off a witch fight or something, but witches weren't the only source of distress and trauma in the world....

"You're those girls from the news."

"Th-that's right." Pink-hair squeezed blue-hair's arm in reassurance, then bowed, like this was a perfectly normal introduction with no deadly weapons being leveled at all. "My name is Kaname Madoka, and this is Miki Sayaka."

Kyoko inclined her head in a short nod. You could call it a bow if you were feeling generous, and Madoka looked like she might be, though Sayaka still looked one wrong move away from sticking a knife in someone. "Sakura Kyoko. Guess ya might have a good reason for runnin' out on Mami after all, huh."

"That's right, Kyoko-san," said Madoka politely. "Tell me...what do you know about Akemi Homura?"

"Eh? Never heard of 'er."

"Then let's not fight, please."

To Kyoko's complete astonishment, the taller, more magical, and way louder Sayaka took in the gentle look from her friend (girlfriend?) and let the sword disappear. Kyoko covered the shock quickly by taking a hefty bite out of her fish pastry, and vanished her spear while she chewed. Gulping, not bothering to wipe the crumbs from her mouth, she addressed Madoka: "You two keep outta my soba, and we'll get along great."

 

***

 

For Madoka's sake she kept quiet, but Sayaka was quietly seething while the obnoxious redhead slurped down noodles.

Who the hell did this girl think she was? Talking about Sayaka like she knew her, like she had any idea what Sayaka's life had been like over the past couple of weeks. And what kind of nerve did it take to insult Mami one moment and lay claim to her cooking the next?

Madoka sketched out an abbreviated version of their story, including as much as they knew about Akemi's powers and mysterious knowledge, excluding both her fights with Sayaka and their makeout sessions. Their first ill-fated escape attempt was barely skimmed over. She was way more calm and articulate about it all than Sayaka could have been, so Sayaka let Madoka handle it, keeping a sharp eye on her in case she started verging on one of those well-justified panic attacks again.

Every five or ten minutes Sayaka also flexed her powers, scanning for Akemi. The result was always the same direction, and vague and blurry: _far away._

"You made a dumb wish," said Kyoko bluntly, drawing Sayaka out of one of her scans. "You know that, right?"

"I was afraid my best friend was being tortured," hissed Sayaka. "Excuse me if I didn't manage to pick the perfect wording."

"I'm not talking about the words, I'm talking about wasting your whole wish on somebody else. The only reason it looks like it's workin' out now is dumb luck. What are you gonna do from now on, huh? Spend the rest of your life carrying your princess around Japan, hoping you can keep one step ahead of the crazy girl?"

"It doesn't have to be forever," said Madoka. "Homu...Akemi said she would let me out after Walpurgis Night. If we can hold out until then, she'll lose interest. I was hoping...the police will be helpless against her, only other puella magi have a chance, and I didn't want to put the burden of protecting me all on Sayaka, so we were hoping Mami-san could...."

"She would've," said Kyoko grimly. "She always was soft. Another lovey-dovey hero-of-justice type — probably what got her killed, trying to protect a normal helpless human or a weaker teammate or something." She nodded to Sayaka. "You could learn from that."

Sayaka gritted her teeth. "What would you know about it, anyway? What would you know about _her?_ "

Kyoko wiped sauce off her chin and jabbed her chopsticks at Sayaka. "I was Tomoe Mami's kouhai way before you showed up, rookie. And I'm the one who found her body, then took out the witch that killed her." Fishing around in the pocket of her hoodie with her free hand, she produced a grief seed and twirled it between her fingertips.

Madoka touched Sayaka's wrist, a gentle warning. To Kyoko she said, "We're sorry."

"Didn't I just say it was her own fault? Don't waste your sympathy."

Sayaka would have come to Madoka's defense, but something about the wrought metal curves of the grief seed had caught her eye. "Let me see that."

"Hell no! I won this fair and square. Get your own."

"I'm not trying to steal it, geez! Just hold it up so I can look!"

Kyoko peered at her with a suspicious look, maybe wondering if she was going crazy too, but held up the grief seed by its slender needle-point. Both the emblem on the front and the carved icon on the steeple were round-edged, five-petaled flowers.

"That witch's barrier," said Sayaka quietly. "What was it like?"

Kyoko shrugged. "Like the Mad Tea Party ride at Disneyland. Giant friggin' teacups, creepy wind-up tin soldiers for familiars. I practically got crushed by a falling cake. What's it to you?"

"You don't know." Sayaka tried to muster up some smugness, but even against such an arrogant person, this wasn't how she wanted to win points. "Miss Experienced Veteran still hasn't figured it out."

A small gasp: Madoka had gotten it. "Sayaka...was this...?"

"Will one of you explain what the hell is going on?"

"Mami's Soul Gem turned into a hairpin when she transformed. A five-petaled flower just like that one." Sayaka nodded to the grief seed. "Witches are us, Miss Veteran. When a puella magi runs out of magic, they're what she turns into. You didn't avenge Mami's death. You finished off what was left of her."

 

***

 

Judging by the fist-shaped dent she left in the wallpaper, Kyoko believed it.

Madoka gasped again and squeezed Sayaka's wrist harder. "P-please stay calm, Kyoko-san," she stammered, palms sweating and heart pounding like it would thump right out of her chest. She could tell herself all night that most people didn't have psychotic outbursts at the drop of a hat, but her luck in that area recently had been dismal, and who was going to talk Kyoko down if she started losing it? Not Madoka, who had been watching her closely and making lots of guesses, but didn't know a sure thing about her.

At least with Homura she'd had time to pay attention, time to figure out what words could turn them back from sudden death. She had had some level of control, some reassurance of safety —

"You're not next, Princess, don't worry," said Kyoko. "Kyuubei, on the other hand...next time I see that little rat he's getting a spear through his guts."

She pushed back her chair with a screech and stalked out of the room, messy ponytail whipping behind her.

"Is she...leaving?" wondered Sayaka under her breath. "Madoka? Should I follow her?"

Right. Following people was an option now.

Madoka shook her head. "Not now. It's a lot to take in...and I think Mami-san was important to her, no matter how jaded she acts. She seems like the kind of person who wants to be alone for that."

They fell silent, contemplating the empty bowl of noodles, the still-unused phone.

"We could send emails," said Madoka softly. "Those won't be traced like calls."

"That would be cruel," said Sayaka. "We couldn't prove it was us typing. They would have to wonder if it was some hacker playing a joke on them, or the kidnapper messing with their heads."

"Oh," said Madoka. "I didn't think of that."

Kyouko paced angrily through the other rooms. Every moment Madoka expected to hear something smash or shatter.

"You can use your powers to find other puella magi, right?" She had wanted to think any fellow magical girl would stand up and help them, but it was obvious Kyoko would need a serious change of heart to take on the role, and that didn't seem likely any time soon. "Can you focus only on ones who might help us?"

"I...could try...."

"It wouldn't be like t-trusting my safety to strangers!" added Madoka hurriedly. "Because you would be the one vetting them. You're the only one I can trust to handle it."

"All right, all right, I'm doing it," said Sayaka, closing her eyes. Her Soul Gem ring pulsed with soft blue light.

A few moments later she jumped to her feet with a gasp.

"You found someone?" exclaimed Madoka.

"No! I mean — there are some, but so far away, must be hundreds of kilometers, I can't get clear directions or anything — but Akemi. She's closer. I think she's coming this way."

 

***

 

"How fast?" demanded Kyoko, when they told her. "Is there time to grab the food?"

"You can stick around and eat all night for all I care," said Sayaka, who had pocketed a couple boxes of snack food plus Mami's remaining Grief Seed. She was now pulling on a pair of Mami's Mary Janes: not exactly her style, but she'd tried on a bunch earlier, and these fit. "As long as you pretend you never saw us, she might not have any interest in you. Us, we're going _now_."

"Uh-huh. Going where?"

"Like we would tell you!"

Kyoko raised her eyebrows. "You don't know, do ya."

"We'll figure it out on the way," said Sayaka fiercely, grabbing her coat. Madoka already had hers on, and was zipping the phone and its charger into one of the pockets. They still had enough cash for a late-night train. Or maybe they could rent a booth in an Internet cafe overnight...as long as the person who took their money didn't look too closely at their faces, or ask for ID. Once Akemi had been and gone, maybe they could come back to Mami's safely....

"Okay, look," said Kyoko. "I'm no Mami, but if you can ditch your smugness for a minute and listen you still might learn somethin' from me, understand? And I don't want to meet crazy-girl any more than you do. So you show me the safe way out of here, and I'll show you two how to get a comfy hidey-hole for the night."

Sayaka would be damned if she accepted help from such an uncaring, rude, selfish person.

So she turned to Madoka for a decision.

"That would be very helpful, Kyoko-san," said Madoka with a little bow. "Thank you."

 

***

 

And then they were out again.

 

***

 

The rain had stopped, leaving puddles everywhere that glinted warningly in the glow of the streetlights. Sayaka clasped Madoka's hand and led her in a wide L, getting several blocks away from Mami's place before turning toward the river. Kyoko crept along behind, for once keeping her mouth shut.

There was a row of shops and cafes at the feet of the office buildings here, all dark for the night. Sayaka pulled Madoka up a single concrete step so they were sheltered against the recessed doorway of a craft store, between two glass display windows showing selections of ribbons, paint brushes, and portrait frames. "We're out of easy sight here. When she gives up, we'll go to the bridge, okay?"

"That's a good plan," said Madoka, bumping her cheek against Sayaka's so Sayaka could feel her smiling. "Wh-where is she now?"

"Close," said Sayaka, holding her tight. Akemi moved so fast, skipping toward them in huge leaps over the space of a split second. "You want to sit down?"

They sat. The concrete was hard but dry, and with the coats on it was almost too warm. Madoka found Sayaka's hand and linked her fingers through it. Kyoko sat on Sayaka's other side, biting her lip. "If this all turns out to be some kind of scam and you two were the crazy ones all along, I am gonna kick your asses so hard."

The night insects buzzed.

"There's a hotel on this side of the water, if ya don't wanna risk the crossing," added Kyoko.

Madoka perked up. "We're staying at a hotel?"

"That's right. Gonna be easier than usual with your friend here. She can point us straight to the empty rooms."

"We're breaking into a hotel," summarized Sayaka.

" _I'm_ breaking into a hotel. You are welcome to be an idiot and decline if you feel like it. And after a good night's sleep I am getting the hell out of this territory before this Walpurgis Night shows up, which you are also welcome to not do, but I wouldn't recommend it."

"Kyoko-san," said Madoka, "what exactly is a Walpurgis Night? Do you know?"

"A witch," said Kyoko. "Not the normal kind...." She paused for a dry laugh. "Like there's anything okay about the _normal kind_ , god. But these ones are so big they don't need barriers. They just tear through normal space — normals always think they're hurricanes or something — until someone stops 'em or they've flattened a city to the ground."

Madoka leaned against Sayaka's side. "What kind of person could create a witch like that?"

Nobody answered.

"So why the hell are we running away and not fighting it?" said Sayaka presently.

" _I'm_ staying out of its way because I like not being dead," said Kyoko. "Can't you feel it? This one's gonna be big. Maybe some puella magi dream team capable of taking it on will swoop in at the last minute, but I wouldn't bet on it. Go on, do your find-y thing, tell me if there's anybody nearby who can stop it."

Sayaka did.

And it was a good thing they were cloaked in shadows under a crescent moon, because in broad daylight her face would have given everything away.

"Nothing," she said, willing her voice to be calm. "But hey, there's good news! Akemi must've decided we're not around. She's moving away now."

"Awright," said Kyoko, grin flashing in the streetlamp's glow. "Hotel time. And, rookie? Look for two rooms next to each other, willya? If there's gonna be any funny business, I wanna be on the other side of a wall."

Madoka turned so red she practically glowed.

 

***

 

**April 22  
Friday**

It was only the familiar presence of Panda-san in her arms that kept Madoka from panicking when she woke up.

Sayaka came out of the shower a few minutes later, wrapped in nothing but a towel. "Good morning, Madoka!" she said, with a forced grin. "What do you want for breakfast? I brought crackers, and the mini-fridge has snack cakes and chocolate."

"You don't have to pretend to be cheerful for me, Sayaka," said Madoka, hugging her knees to her chest. "I'm okay, I promise."

Sayaka's face fell. "Yeah, okay," she said, though she didn't look much more relaxed. "Sorry. Habit."

Madoka was getting out of her own shower when a knock on the door stopped her in her tracks. This wasn't the time when Homura was supposed to come down —

Except she wasn't _down_ , and the breakfast from this fridge was stolen, and Sayaka was saying through the bathroom door, "It's okay! It's just Miss Veteran!"

It was awkward to pull on her clothes from the day before — the ones she'd slept in, no less — but it turned out Kyoko had made the same fashion choice. (Unless it wasn't a choice? The way Kyoko talked so easily about staying in hotels, and never referred to _home_ , made Madoka think...but she couldn't know for sure, and it would be much too rude to ask.)

Instead of something edible, the redhead was carrying half a dozen cheap school notebooks, the fronts neatly labeled and the pages surprisingly crisp for being full of writing. "Guess this is where we split," she said, dropping them on the bed. "So I brought you kids a parting gift. Figured you're gonna need it."

"What is it?" asked Madoka dubiously. She was thinking of schoolwork, the low-tech version of Homura's regular arrival with a thumb drive in hand — and Sayaka was probably imagining something similar, from the way she was flinching away.

"Mami," said Kyoko, patting the pile, "took notes."

Madoka caught her breath. Sayaka's expression melted into something wistful and guilty.

"Obviously they're gonna be missin' some major points," added Kyoko, not bothering to hide her bitterness, "but for tracking down witches, using your magic effectively...this'll cover everything she woulda taught you. They're no use to me, since I already know what I'm doing, so you may as well have 'em." She focused on Sayaka. "Start with enchantment, that's my advice."

"Enchantment?" echoed Sayaka.

"Changing objects around. Taking one thing an' making it more powerful, or giving it some special ability or whatever."

"Oh, that? I can do that already."

"What?"

"Just because I'm a rookie doesn't mean I haven't figured out any —"

"What's wrong with you?" burst out Kyoko, cutting her off. "Are you stupid or something?"

Madoka took an involuntary step back, plastering herself against the nearest wall. Sayaka, who was too far across the room to step in between them, tensed. "You got something to say to me, say it straight out."

"Enchant the phone to be untraceable and call your parents already, idiot!"

Both Madoka and Sayaka stopped cold.

"I'm not wasting any more time on a couple of blockheads like you," huffed Kyoko, stalking toward the door. "If there's one thing I can't stand almost as much as wasting food, it's daughters who don't know how to support their parents."

She stopped across from Madoka, stuck her hand in her pocket, and thrust something in Madoka's direction. Madoka squeaked in fear — then realized it was only a juice box, and fought to slow her racing heartbeat down.

"Take it, Princess." Kyoko waved the juice box until Madoka gathered it into her trembling hands. "Full a' vitamins. You gotta keep your strength up. How's your girlfriend going to feel if she goes to all this trouble to help you and you show your gratitude by keeling over on her?"

Blushing again, and starting to feel lightheaded, Madoka nodded. "Th-thank you, Kyoko-san."

Kyoko harumphed, and with a swish of her unkempt ponytail made her exit.


	15. Don't you go worrying about storms!

**April 22  
(Continued)**

The caller ID on the screen was blank. Even the number wasn't showing up.

Could be anyone. Another of the girls from the school, calling to say she'd remembered something, anything, though it would ultimately lead them nowhere. Another of the reporters, digging up private phone lines, looking for a novel way to feast on their grief. He wanted to ignore it, to block out every call that wasn't a trusted friend or one of the official contacts they knew all too well.

But. But his wife had heard from the girls' homeroom teacher last night that two more girls were missing. Absent for days in a row. No contact yet with the parents. Nobody to make a report of a vanished child, nothing yet to the story except rumors whispering down the school's glass-paneled hallways, while officers kept up a patrol on the grounds.

This could be one of the parents.

"Kaname residence, Tomohisa speaking."

A choked gasp — from a girl, not an adult — and a soft voice. "P-Papa?"

An automatic answer sprang into his mind, a reflex from the time when things were normal: not now, sweetie, I can't stay on the phone, I'm waiting for a call from the police about —

"— _Madoka!_ "

 

***

 

Mami's phone was silver-cased and sapphire-studded in her hands. In her lap sat the pad of hotel stationary, with a neat list of points she wanted to remember. It had been a good idea: they all flew out of her head the second she heard her father's voice.

"Papa," she repeated, the tears welling up. Sayaka, who had offered to stay or go as she wanted, hugged her from behind. "I'm okay. It's me, and Sayaka's here too. Is Mama there? Tell her we escaped, and I'm okay."

"She's at work," said Papa. And oh, there was a catch in his voice that Madoka had never heard before, a palpable struggling to keep it together. She had always thought of Mama as an unshakeable pillar, but hadn't realized until this moment how much she also took her father's quiet stability for granted. "Where are you, sweetheart? Are you safe? Do you need the police? Wherever you are, they'll send as many cars as —"

"It's okay! We don't need — we're somewhere safe. I promise." She knew as the words came out that they wouldn't hold any special weight for Papa, but there was nothing more reassuring she could think of. "The police can't help. They'll only draw attention to us. If we can stay unnoticed by _that person_ for a while, we'll be fine, okay?"

"We can catch that person. I promise, we can. If you can give a name, even an alias, or some kind of description...Your mother will track them down herself and drag them to court by the hair if she has a chance."

And Homura would either vanish before anyone got ahold of her, or shoot down whoever did. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Honey...I don't know what this person has done to you, but whatever they've convinced you they can do...."

"Nothing!" Right, this was on her list: explain the existence she had started taking for granted to someone who might have been imagining anything in its place. "They didn't hurt me. We had food, water, a shower...we couldn't leave, but other than that, they tried to take care of us. Anything you've been afraid of, whatever scary things you've been imagining...."

"The detectives traced your phone and found it in the river," said Papa weakly. "Sayaka-chan's was in a trash can outside your school! Every day I've been afraid we'd get a call saying the police had checked again and found — and found...!"

"But you didn't." Madoka felt strange as she said it — detached, somehow. Like it wasn't strange at all that she was the one doing the comforting, while her father broke down. She wasn't even crying. "You didn't. It didn't happen, so it's going to be all right."

_Maybe this is the day I run out of tears._

"Nobody else is in danger. Not from this person, I mean."

"You can't know that — two more girls have been absent, you can't be sure —"

"I'm sorry, Papa. I can't explain." She leaned into Sayaka's embrace, knowing they were the right words to say but hating it all the same. Sayaka's face pressed warmly against her neck. "I'll tell you everything soon, though, okay? I promise."

"Come home and tell us now." He was all but begging. Madoka's heart ached to hear it. "Please, sweetheart, if you can't trust the police, trust your parents. Trust me and your Mama. We can make this all okay, we can protect you, if you'll just come home."

"April thirtieth."

"That's...what does that mean?"

It meant the most important item on her list. "There's going to be a...a storm. A big one. A disaster. We can't come home until after that. And you have to get away from Mitakihara before it happens, okay? Get everyone — Hitomi-chan and her family, Kamijou-kun and his, Saotome-sensei, anyone else you can — and run — It doesn't matter where. We'll find you."

Her father's answer to that was a long time coming. "Madoka...what kind of thing are you mixed up in?"

"I can't say now. But I will. If you trust me, if you do this for me, we can meet again on May first. Please, I swear, I'll tell you and Mama everything once it's May."

 

***

 

After a cascade of I-love-you's, Madoka ended the call, saying they needed to get in touch with Sayaka's parents too. She seemed to need to recover first, though, and Sayaka was willing to spoon until it happened.

"He said two more girls had been absent," said Madoka, after a few minutes of wordless embracing. "Not part of the investigation, just absent. But with Mami d-dead for more than a week, her parents would have reported her missing, wouldn't they?"

Sayaka nuzzled her forehead. "Mami...didn't exactly have parents. No close relatives, either. Maybe there's nobody to make the report."

Madoka pulled up the phone's web browser and silently searched for _missing girls Mitakihara_. News results from the last forty-eight hours turned up a few articles on the ongoing manhunt for Madoka's, and presumably Sayaka's, kidnapper. None had a mention of any new names.

"Two girls unofficially missing, then," said Sayaka. "Maybe Akemi got smart and decided to kidnap someone with no family this time, so they wouldn't be missed." It was supposed to be a joke. Not a great one, but still.

Madoka looped an arm around her chest and answered seriously. "I think the other missing girl is Akemi."

 

***

 

Sayaka's mother cried. Her father threatened, loudly and reassuringly, to make sure whoever had done this was locked up forever.

She said most of the things Madoka had. Admitted to starting a fight with their captor; didn't mention the gunshot wound. There was no good way to explain that she'd healed it within days.

She asked how Kyousuke was doing. They said he was as well as ever, progressing with his physical therapy, worried about her. Sayaka tried not to get upset when it turned out they hadn't actually checked in with him for at least a week — it had been her self-imposed duty, not theirs — and was relieved when her mother said Hitomi had visited him. "There was one visit, and might be more. I'm not sure — she does an awful lot of after-school activities, doesn't she? But she's made time for at least one."

"Either way, of course he can't be moved yet," said her father. "Where would he go that compares to the best paralysis unit in the country? But don't you go worrying about storms! Hospitals are full of backup systems for any emergency."

They urged her to come home. She insisted that she couldn't. The kidnapper was obsessed with Madoka, wouldn't give up until they had Madoka back, and Sayaka had to stay and protect her. No, the police couldn't do it. No, she wasn't taking too much on herself. What did they mean, "again"?

"I have to go now," she said at last. "I love you, okay? I'll call again when I can."

 

***

 

Madoka had, at Sayaka's halting request, spent the duration of the second call in the other room with the water running. Instead of showering right away, she piled her clothes in the sink and scrubbed them as best she could.

They had made it out in decent outfits. Madoka's was a frilly tank top and matching skirt in a dark rose plaid, over a long-sleeved shirt in almost the same creamy hue as their long-lost school uniforms. Sayaka had a dark shirt with red trim and a pair of white capris, not her usual style, but at least Homura had gotten them in the right sizes. Still, less than two days on the run, and she already missed having clean things to wear.

If only she had known it would be so easy. She'd planned their escape as a breakneck flight, and it turned out they could have taken a stack of clothing from their prison, taken a leisurely walk, and made it out just fine. If Madoka could do it over, knowing what she knew now....

But that was impossible, so she had to make do. The clothes hung over the shower rod to drip dry. When Sayaka knocked on the door and invited her back out, she wrapped a huge white towel around her torso and went.

Sayaka got one look at her, turned bright red, and was suddenly very interested in the phone.

"I t-told them everything on the list," she reported, sinking into the tall chair that matched the dark wood of the desk. Judging by the way her feet twisted against the carpet, it was disorienting to both of them to have a desk chair that didn't spin. "And I didn't give away anything about Akemi. You're probably right, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot anyone who came after her."

That wasn't the only reason Madoka had for protecting Homura's identity. But as long as Sayaka believed that much, it didn't matter whether she also bought the idea that Homura would still want to fight Walpurgis Night, and had to be a free agent until the battle was over. "I'm glad."

She took a seat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, arms clamped to her sides to hold the towel in place.

"I could wash your clothes too, if you wanted," she added shyly. "That is — I mean — you could transform while they dried, so it isn't like you'd have to be...well, u-unless you wanted...."

Okay, that was enough unfinished sentences for one day. She clamped her mouth shut before she could embarrass herself any further.

"If you're offering something, you should say what you mean," said Sayaka. "Otherwise you're teasing, and it's not fair."

Madoka didn't blame her for being upset. On the other hand, she honestly didn't know _what_ was on offer.

Not that she didn't understand what two girls did together! (A certain password-protected folder of _Pretty Cure_ doujinshi on her hard drive had given her more than enough ideas to start with.) But she couldn't pin down how much of it she was open to, how much she was ready to try right now, where she wanted to start, whether they should even be wasting time fooling around at all when there were Mami's notebooks to study....

"Look, can we talk about this?" burst out Sayaka, now staring resolutely at her feet. "You didn't say anything about...about us, to your dad. And I didn't either!" she added quickly. "I understand why you wouldn't. There's so much else we have to make them accept, it wasn't the most important thing, not by a long shot."

"That's right," agreed Madoka. That was exactly why she hadn't put it on the list.

"So...was there any other reason?"

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't because...well." Sayaka's fists clenched. The hotel's day curtains were drawn closed, bathing the room in a pleasantly diffused sunlight, except for one brilliant sliver coming through the center; it drew a bright line down the carpet between them, painted a yellow-white stripe across Sayaka's knuckles, made her soul gem ring gleam. "Because after this is all over, you're not sure there's going to be an 'us' anyway?"

Madoka caught her breath.

Everything else she'd been trying to plan out, and she hadn't noticed this. Hadn't realized that all the time she was thinking _my girlfriend_ , Sayaka was thinking _do you even like me like that?_

"Sayaka," she said softly. "Look at me, okay?"

Sayaka did. Her stubborn, confident mask was only half in place, letting the need and vulnerability show through.

Time to finish some sentences.

"I love you," said Madoka. "I want you to be my girlfriend. And when we get back to school," which might be a while, depending on how long it took to recover from her new sense of panic in crowds, but they would get there, "I want to let everyone know it. That's what I'm offering."

Sayaka swallowed hard. "Do you really think someone like me deserves to love someone like you?"

A question that obvious didn't deserve to be honored with an answer. Instead, Madoka held out her hand. "Come here."

 

***

 

Madoka's slim, bare calves hung off the side of the bed, toes just brushing the floor. Sayaka obediently stepped in between them, and, when Madoka's hands caressed her shirt around the collar and tugged her down, bent to press their lips together.

She had just gathered the nerve to get her arms around Madoka's shoulders when Madoka let her go and slid backward across the sheets, legs pulling together just in time to preserve her modesty. "Follow me?"

Breathless, afraid to say anything lest it break the magic of what Madoka's smile was doing to her, Sayaka followed.

Madoka lowered herself onto her elbows, waited for Sayaka to climb close enough to kiss her again, then settled back onto the pillows. Her unbound hair, getting so long after weeks without even a trim, fanned out around her face in cherry-blossom waves.

On hands and knees over her, Sayaka straddled Madoka's hips and waited for more direction. She got it in the form of a touch on her waist, slipping up under her shirt, and another cupping the base of her skull through her own untidy locks to draw her down. Sayaka caught her mouth once more, then couldn't resist moving on to her cheeks, her brows, her temples, the delicate line of her jaw....

"Oh!" gasped Madoka, as Sayaka was kissing a path down her neck. "Don't stop," she added, when Sayaka did. "It was good. Keep going! Just like that."

There were more gasps, and soft, sweet noises, as Sayaka traced her way to Madoka's collarbones as far as the soft border marked by the towel. Her skin felt hypersensitized; her pulse throbbed insistently between her legs; a fresh wave of sparks ran over her when she did something that made Madoka's whole body twist beneath her. Fragile and strong, protected and protecting, shy demeanor and sharp mind, awkward slender perfect limbs — Sayaka loved everything about her, loved being able to touch her, loved the rush of making this wonderful person happy.

"Sayaka...." Madoka carded through her hair once more, twice, then slid both hands up her body and off of it. Sayaka had to recover from her own full-body shudder before raising her head.

Meeting her eyes, Madoka hooked her fingers under the edges of the towel, and tugged.

The wrapping had been done well; the top edge held together. But a diamond of bare skin opened up below it, the whole valley between her breasts, modesty only barely preserved by the white borders she had allowed to remain. "Should I...?"

"Oh god please yes," panted Sayaka.

She didn't, though, not just yet. "And if...if you want, I can...."

The sheets rustled as she shifted. Sayaka couldn't tell what was moving until something pressed up between her legs. She let out an inarticulate groan of agreement as her hips snapped forward all on their own, grinding needily against Madoka's bare thigh. "Yes _please_ this —"

"Oh — oh good," gasped Madoka, and with one solid yank had the towel unwrapped down to her navel. Her breasts were soft and round and teacup-pert, and sure, Sayaka had seen her in a bikini last summer, but Sayaka hadn't been kissing her then. Hadn't imagined how sensitive they were, how she would cry out and writhe under Sayaka's mouth. "Oh! — do that, do _that!_ "

Her spine arched, pressing her against Sayaka's body; she got two fistfuls of the hem of Sayaka's shirt. "Can I? I want to see you, can I...?"

"Anything," moaned Sayaka. Anything at all, whatever Madoka wanted. "Pull."

Madoka stripped her from the waist up in another smooth motion, though this one did leave Sayaka's hair a tousled mess. Sayaka sat back on Madoka's hips, knees splayed, to undo her plain black bra and toss it aside. Her chest was larger, didn't pop up so neatly unsupported, but if she had any thoughts of insecurity they were wiped away by the way Madoka glowed at the sight. "Come here, beautiful, come back down."

Because she had had a few moments to catch her breath, Sayaka could reply: "Your loyal knight obliges, Princess."

And she did.

 

***

**the eternal present  
Now**

No sign of them at homes no sign at Mami's place or at Hitomi's

no other places left that they would go? she has to _think_

unless they ran?

if this time something took, if someone _listened,_ then they could have run and left this cursed city far behind

 

_but of course you didn't, your families are still here and you wouldn't leave them behind and anyway you never leave that never changes, there are things I can fix when in the right place at the right time but there are some that never change no matter what I do, Sayaka if she contracts always starts refusing grief seeds and if Mami learns the truth or loses one too many people she will die and you goddammit Madoka you never listen you stupid stupid saint I hate you I hate you I hate you I_

 

She crumbles to the floor and nearly drops the mortar with a sob

 

_I'm sorry_

_I didn't mean that_

_I'm sorrysorrysorrysorrysorryfor everything_

 

(that isn't how it _happens_ , this is where she breaks into the base and picks up AT-4s and L16s with perfect calm, as long as she can clean them out it works, at least it should, there's a time she pulls it off and blows the thing to pieces but then Madoka knows nothing of the battle meets the Incubator in the soaking wreckage makes a wish to put the city back together so she has to do it over

and she does it all the same but better has to be more perfect every time the witch keeps getting _stronger_ there is no time in her schedule for a breakdown)

 

_just please let me protect you this time pleasepleaseplease let this one be the time it works for good_


	16. I believe it's the right thing to do.

**April 23  
Saturday**

The alarm went off at half past four in the morning. Madoka and Sayaka crawled out of bed, pulled on their raincoats and gathered armloads of their few pre-arranged belongings, and crept through the foggy pre-dawn grey to the hotel down the block. To a room that wasn't scheduled to have paying guests by evening.

The new place had rich blue trim on the king-size blankets, and matching upholstery on the lounge by the window. Sayaka was in heaven. Madoka was mostly interested in whether the mattress was soft.

Instead of climbing into bed with her, Sayaka tucked the blankets up around Madoka's shoulders and smoothed down her hair. "I'm going to sneak down to the kitchen and see if I can pick up some breakfast."

"Mmm," said Madoka, eyes already closed. "Stay safe."

 

***

 

While Sayaka sprawled on her stomach on the mattress, crunching on an apple in one hand and turning the pages of one of Mami's notebooks with the other, Madoka sat on the floor and leaned against the window. She had been using Mami's phone, but when the Internet turned up zero references to any such game as Kaguya Super Contract Z, she ended up taking in the scenery instead.

It was all buildings across the street, tall silver ones in modern designs studded with windows, except for a tiny grove of trees on the corner. Two major roads crossed here, one of them with signs to indicate it led to a bridge, and by late morning there was a steady flow of cars and bicycles lining up each time the light changed. The glass tube of a bus stop sat in front of one of the building entrances; Madoka watched a bus pull up and spit out a dozen people, pin-sized from this height, to scatter in all directions.

They were high enough in the building that the horizon was visible, and very far away. Madoka could, by now, look at it for minutes at a time without getting dizzy. That was good.

 _Lots of things are good,_ she thought, cheeks warming. Being with Sayaka was making all the rest infinitely more bearable.

She went back to focusing on the foot traffic below until she was interrupted by a groan from Sayaka, who pushed the book aside and padded over to sit with her, collapsing against her back in a dramatic slump.

"Not going well?" asked Madoka lightly.

Sayaka huffed a sigh. "Needed a break. This whole volume so far is records of team-up strategies she used to do with Miss Veteran, back when Miss Veteran was still Miss Rookie. How is that supposed to help me? It's not like I have anyone to team up with now."

"Maybe one day you will," offered Madoka. "It doesn't hurt to plan ahead."

"Maybe," said Sayaka grudgingly. "So...what have you been up to?"

Madoka nodded to the people on the streets, going to work or coming home with shopping or delivering takeout or catching planes. "Watching them all. Trying to convince myself that if I was down there, I wouldn't have to keep track of every single one of them. That most of them probably wouldn't even notice me."

"Mmm."

She found one of Sayaka's hands and squeezed it. "It's silly, I know...."

"Yeah, geez, Madoka," deadpanned Sayaka. "You get kidnapped by one obsessive stalker, and all of a sudden you start having trust issues? Come on."

Madoka giggled in spite of herself. Sayaka hummed with pleasure and rested her head on Madoka's shoulder.

"I wanted to sneak back to Mami's tonight. Pick up any food that's left. Clothes, too — she was taller than you, so you should be able to wear them, even if they don't really fit."

"That's a good idea."

"So you'll be okay on your own?"

Madoka's hand tensed in Sayaka's. "You were going to go alone?"

"One person is less risky than two, right? And I can move faster if you're not there. Not that you're slow! It's a puella magi thing, that's all."

"No, of course, you're right," said Madoka, willing herself to stay calm. She'd been on her own for a while this morning, right? And she'd slept right through it, and woken up fine. This would be exactly the same, just longer. Sayaka would come back.

_Like Homura always came back._

Sayaka considered this for a moment, then slid her fingers out of Madoka's and stood up. She returned a moment later to drop to one knee in front of Madoka, holding something slender and pale: the last of the plastic knives she'd so painstakingly sharpened, the only one she hadn't used. It glowed blue-white and twisted in her grip.

"Would it help to have this?" she asked, offering Madoka the silver dagger with an intricate blue pattern carved on the golden hilt. Madoka must have made a face, because she added, "You don't have to use it on anything! It would be enough to scare off anyone who came in, that's all."

Madoka shook her head. She was afraid of being alone, even in this open set of rooms with a door she could unlock and windows to the sky, not afraid of someone finding her. "Thank you, but no...can you enchant the phone, please? I'll call my parents again, see if Mama's home this time. That's what would help."

 

***

 

Sayaka balanced on the hotel roof, watching the last red and violet streaks of sunset melt away on the horizon. A quick search for Akemi found her nowhere in the area. Nor were there any other puella magi nearby.

Her uniform materialized in a flash of blue.

She bent her legs, flexed her magic, and leaped. The armor was strong, the leather supple, the cape pure white as it swirled out behind her. The building across the street loomed in her vision for a few heart-pounding seconds before her boots touched down, with painless, catlike grace.

Mami's post-mortem lesson #1: success! Sayaka allowed herself a determined fist-pump, a grin of pride — not that she would have taken the risk if there had been any doubts, but still, it was a good feeling. Then she took off across the roof toward the next leap.

Now _this_ was the way to travel.

 

***

 

Not only was Mama home tonight, she was the one to pick up the call.

"Can you tell us something, sweetheart?" she asked, after Madoka had reassured her in person that she was fine, she and Sayaka were safe, they could all be reunited soon. "Did you ever try to send us any messages?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Madoka, hugging the increasingly ragged Panda-san. She had almost forgotten. "Weeks ago. _That person_ said if I didn't give away who they were, I could write a letter telling you I was okay."

"The handwriting specialist said it was yours!" exclaimed her mother. "He also said you were upset when you wrote it. As if I needed to pay someone to tell me that!"

Madoka giggled with relief. Now if she could just get Mama on her side, it would take so much of the worry off her shoulders. "I was scared, that was all. I tried to send you a coded message first, only the person caught me — it's all right, they didn't hurt me!" she added quickly, when someone on the other end gasped. "They made me rewrite it, nothing else."

Her mother was the first person not to go into protestations about perspective, and guilt, and what counted as "hurt." Instead she said, "Madoka, you feel you have to protect this person. Is that right?"

Did she _have_ to? "Not exactly," said Madoka, choosing her words with care. "It's more that...I believe it's the right thing to do. Sayaka feels the same way."

"Could it be because you think they're a good person? Maybe what happened was an accident, and they would have let you go if they weren't afraid of being punished? Or maybe they're sick, have some kind of problem with self-control, and you're worried they won't get help if they're caught?"

Madoka opened her mouth for another "not exactly," then had a thought. "Did you talk to a specialist in this too?"

It was Papa who answered this one. "We've talked to specialists in everything, honey."

Which meant someone with experience would be using this conversation, trying to draw out a sketch of Homura's personality from the shadows cast by everything Madoka said. "They're not an evil person. That's all I want to say right now, okay?"

"All right," said Mama, in a sterling talking-to-clients tone of calm authority. "Madoka, the reason I ask is...if it was only ever you and Sayaka-chan who were kidnapped, and if you both agree...we can try to find a solution that doesn't hurt this person. I can't promise anything, because Sayaka-chan's parents might still want to press charges, you understand? But if you do let me know who they are, I will do everything I can to make sure they're treated fairly. If they need any kind of medical help, we'll see that they get it."

Madoka had the best mother in the _world._

And, in the quiet as she tried to figure out an answer, she caught a strange noise in the background — a rustle of papers, a clicking sound, the murmur of a low voice that wasn't Papa's.

"This number can't be traced," she said, and was secretly kind of pleased at the scramble from the strangers in the room who had been caught out. "Don't worry, I won't hang up! You can keep trying for as long as you want. I just thought you might like to know."

To her credit, Mama didn't even try to deny it. "They're the best in Japan," she replied, and added a sidelong "For all the good that's done us!"

Even safely across the city, the shout made Madoka wince. "I'm sorry, Mama. It was a really good offer, and I wish...." No, that was an incautious phrase to use these days. "I mean, it would be wonderful if we could say yes."

Papa stepped in again. "Is there something else you need? To feel safe coming home?"

 _Aside from four solid walls and not too many non-Sayaka people around?_ "Just what I already told you. I can come home next week. After the storm."

 

***

 

Mami's apartment was empty this time. Really empty.

Without Madoka or even that annoying Kyoko, Sayaka had to work even harder to distract herself from sights like the half-read magazine on the table that would never be finished, the azaleas by the window wilting and shedding dried petals for lack of care. The thrill of her successful rooftop sprint drained away fast.

She was pawing through Mami's dresser drawers when the silence got choking.

"This is what you would want, right, Mami-san?" she said out loud. "For your things to be used in the cause of justice, instead of sitting around collecting dust until someone realizes the rent's not being paid and comes around to throw them out?"

There was no cosmic sign of disapproval, so Sayaka added several pairs of clean underwear to the pile — she was using one of Mami's pillowcases as a bag — and went looking for safety pins. She found them instantly, a tin on one of the bookshelves next to a bowl of hair decorations. After tossing the lot into her makeshift sack, she brushed her fingers over a blue hair clip decorated with a cluster of golden flowers.

A static shock jumped to her hand.

"Fine!" cried Sayaka. "I'm sorry, okay? But I was trying! Maybe if I'd gotten out earlier I would have been able to save you, but I did everything I could!"

She stalked over to the closet. A couple of sundresses — Madoka wouldn't be able to wear those. A black dress with a high V-neck and pink ribbon trim, yes, that might do. A rich purple kimono, with a gorgeous pattern of clustered violets, much too fancy for wearing on the run. Lots of blouses. Madoka would like the yellows, and the greens; the oranges weren't really her style. It wasn't really cold, even for April, but a couple of cardigans might not go amiss if she could carry them.

"Turns out I'm not very good at saving people," continued Sayaka to her imaginary Mami. "Couldn't even save Madoka on my own; she had to plan it out herself. And now...did you know a Walpurgis Night is coming? Even I can sorta feel it now, if I hold my Soul Gem the right way. And you were the expert on that kind of thing."

There was at least one reference to "Walpurgis Night" in Mami's records, in a short glossary of puella-magi-related words and phrases. _Term for a rare kind of witch too strong to need a barrier,_ it said of this one. _Possibly a group of them? Someone must have thought so — the term is German for "a gathering of witches." Rumors say it can even be sensed well before it manifests._

"Thing is, it's probably gonna kill a lot of people. Akemi was convinced about that, which obviously doesn't mean much, but your protégé thought so too. And all I'm doing about it is telling my parents to get out of the city. Pushing them out of the way, instead of doing what I can to stop the thing in its tracks."

Sayaka dropped the pillowcase next to the front door, did another search for Akemi (nowhere nearby), and strode past the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the kitchen.

"It isn't even like when I left that guy in the toxic building after the box witch." She could picture Mami's shock at that, the disappointment in another kouhai letting her down. "I know. Some hero of justice I am, huh? But even though that was wrong, at least he was a horrible creep who deserved a good scare."

Canned fruit. Boxed cereal. Juice. Nothing that would spoil easily or needed to be heated to eat, although Kyoko seemed to have cleaned those foods out already. A sturdy cloth grocery bag was enough to hold almost everything left.

"Whereas Walpurgis Night will take out people who've never done anything wrong," said Sayaka. "Not to mention how it'll wreck businesses, maybe flatten homes. What if it comes by the school? Smashes up the technology they've fundraised so hard to get? What if it comes by the _hospital?_ "

She did what she should have done from the beginning: searched for money. There was a small pile of bills in the living room bureau, top right drawer, under one of the vases of wilting flowers. Sayaka tucked them in the bag next to the cans.

"And Madoka can stop it."

Nothing else too valuable (at least, not in this apartment; her search alerted her to some fancy items upstairs, and more around the corner, and...but none of that mattered). Maybe Kyoko had run off with jewelry, too.

"Nobody else. At least, nobody in range of my powers. But she'd have to become a puella magi to do it, and by now you know better than any of us what that really means. Would you risk that?"

One of the things Mami had said flashed through her mind. _Whether to become a magical girl isn't something anyone else can decide for you. You have to consider all the evidence and make that choice yourself._

Sayaka sank to her knees by the side of the wedge-shaped table where Mami had offered her cake and tea. The table where she had first seriously taken in the idea that magical creatures were lurking in the shadows of her everyday life, and one of them might have murdered the girl she loved — even if she'd been too preoccupied taking care of Kyousuke to realize just how much.

"My wish, and everything since...it's all been to protect her." Sayaka's hand twitched on the glass tabletop. "Even if it's selfish, don't I have a right to keep doing that?"

The Mami in her imagination wasn't convinced for a second.

But then, the Mami in her imagination was barely more than a sketch, a first impression. Sayaka had known the real girl for less than two weeks; both of them would have spent that time putting on their best fronts. How could she know what the real Mami would think? She'd been acquainted with Kyuubei just as long, and Akemi for longer by the time she contracted, and look how good her judgment of character there had been.

Maybe Mami had her own dark side. Maybe she would have listened to Sayaka's story, nodded thoughtfully with those sad eyes of hers, and said something like _Forget about heroics and justice. I only talk about them to look impressive in front of my kouhai. Deep down, I believe that in a situation like this, you may as well save the person who's most important to you._

"...and maybe I'm desecrating your memory even to suspect it," said Sayaka out loud, forcing herself back up. If she was going to waste time spinning in circles and getting nowhere, she should at least get back to Madoka first. "I'm not deciding anything now, okay? So whatever you would have thought, you don't have any reason to be disappointed in me."

_At least, not yet._

 

***

**April 24  
Sunday**

Sayaka was trying. That much was clear. She couldn't help it that studying had never agreed with her, that she got antsy if she had to focus on something like a textbook for more than half an hour at a time.

Madoka tried to keep track of when Sayaka needed a break, and indicate that she was available for therapeutic making out if necessary.

She was on top of Sayaka on the bed, hair swept back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of both their faces, when Sayaka unlocked their mouths and blurted, "Can you help me with the reading?"

"I don't know," stammered Madoka. "Can I? Even if I did read some of it, you'd still have to learn those parts yourself eventually...."

"I know, I know." Sayaka ran her hands the curve of down Madoka's spine. "But some of it isn't really useful. Like the teamwork parts, remember? I thought you could sorta...filter it. Find the most important parts, and tell me to read those first. And maybe we could talk them over afterward. Not that you should ever need to know any of this yourself! All I'm saying is, maybe I would learn it better that way."

"That makes sense." Madoka hugged Sayaka's waist with her knees. "All right! Let's do it."

"Not right this second, though," said Sayaka hurriedly, and pulled her down to kiss her again.


	17. There's nobody else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter draws on information from the PSP game, so heads-up if you're avoiding spoilers from that.

**April 24  
(Continued)**

A light wind tossed the curtains, revealing the sun-soaked landscape beyond. From this height you could see all the way to the shadow of the mountain; even in the heart of the city, only a handful of skyscrapers reached high enough to block the view.

"I really wasn't supposed to tell you." She was anxious, flush with emotion. "There's an ongoing investigation, they wouldn't tell me almost anything, but I thought, if anyone else deserves to know...."

"I understand." He covered her hand with one of his own — the good one, of course. "I won't say a word, okay? Thank you so much for telling me, Shizuki-san."

She nodded.

"I hope you won't stop visiting!" he added, taking his own turn to be somewhat flustered. "Even if you were only coming here in her honor...." (They've never said _her memory_ , afraid to tempt fate. Looks like it worked.) "...I really did like seeing you for your own sake. Of course, if you have to start up your lessons again, I understand...."

"No, it's all right!" she exclaimed, cutting him off. "I was going to stop anyway, with high school exams getting so close now. And...and even before all of this, I had been planning to...." The sentence trailed away, unfinished.

"I knew you weren't trying to replace her," stammered Kyousuke.

Hitomi nodded, wiping her eyes. "I'm okay!" she insisted, even as her voice careened up in pitch. "I just...I'm so glad they're alive!"

 

***

 

At first Madoka was only skimming the information, filtering through it and directing Sayaka to the most relevant parts. It didn't make sense for her to read more closely. She didn't need to absorb the information for her own sake, so there was no point, right?

Her attitude changed when she spotted the beginning of a single sentence jotted down the side of a page: _Kyuubei says...._

Anything Mami had directly experienced was probably trustworthy. Anything she had only accepted from the mouth of the Incubator...or brain, Madoka supposed, given that she didn't even know its mouth could make noise...who knew?

From then on Madoka read everything. On a notepad filched from the last hotel room, she started a record of her own: everything "Kyuubei" had said, beginning with as much as she could remember about the way he had offered her a contract.

She was working on the project well into the evening, or trying to, while Sayaka called her parents again. Eventually Sayaka disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. Madoka tried not to listen too closely to the yelling.

"They've been coached," moaned Sayaka afterward, sprawling across the bed and covering her head with a pillow. "Wouldn't listen to a word I said about danger and storms, they just kept trying to sneak information about Akemi out of me...not that Dad was real subtle about it! I wouldn't say anything, not even that I think she's insane, but that only convinced them I'd been brainwashed into liking her too." She winced as soon as she said it, peered out at Madoka from under the fluff. "Not that you've been brainwashed! I didn't mean it like that."

"Mama was coached too," said Madoka softly. The chart of Mami's that she had been staring at for the past ten minutes lay open across her knees.

"Really? I mean, are you sure?"

"Well...she didn't promise to have the kidnapper tied up and launched off the top of the Tokyo Tower." (That got an appreciative smile from Sayaka.) "Someone whose opinions she trusted must have told her it would be bad for me."

"If only they could talk to some puella magi experts," grumbled Sayaka.

Madoka frowned. "Could they? They might be able to take advice from a magical girl who was close to their age, and appeared to know what she was doing...can you find someone like that, Sayaka?"

Sayaka let the pillow fall away and rose up ever so slightly on her elbows, her eyes taking on the distant look they often did when she was flexing her powers. A few moments later she shuddered and let herself collapse back onto the bedspread.

"Sayaka...?"

"There's one adult puella magi in my range," said Sayaka. "She's in the exact same place as Akemi."

Madoka's breath caught.

Sayaka flailed for words for a second, then settled on, "That _creep_."

There was nothing Madoka could say to that. Nothing she was sure of, at least.

"Aside from her," added Sayaka dully, "there's nobody else. I can't even find any magical girls older than twenty."

 

***

**April 25  
Monday**

In the dead of night they crossed the river.

The cables of the bridge stretched into the purple sky like spiderwebs, framing them, enclosing them. Madoka wanted to hold Sayaka's hand, but her arms were full of a bundle of laundry, her pockets stuffed with notes and hotel candy bars and the ragged stuffed animal she still couldn't bring herself to leave behind.

They had to do it. An arc of vandalized hotel rooms moving through Mami's part of town would be too predictable. Someone would look at the reports, put two and two together, set up a trap that would snap shut aroud them.

Sayaka wore her magically fitted uniform. Madoka wore borrowed (stolen) shoes, though they were starting to chafe.

On the opposite bank, as they walked past a playground, Sayaka stopped cold. Madoka tripped to a stop beside her. "Sayaka?" she whispered. "What is it?"

"Witch trail," murmured Sayaka, hugging her own bundle of clothing against the Soul Gem on her chest. "It moved through here a couple of hours ago."

Madoka shivered. If it was still around, and Sayaka didn't go after it....

Sayaka bumped her lightly in the shoulder. "Come on. We have to make six more blocks."

She didn't say anything about looking for the witch, and Madoka didn't push.

 

***

After his afternoon session of water-bound physical therapy, Kyousuke had a nurse wheel him to the bathroom — at least he had progressed enough to earn privacy for that — then back to bed. He asked the nurse to retrieve a book from the shelves for him, and settled in to do some reading. Although he was trying not to fall too far behind with schoolwork, he saved the weekends for novels.

He was turning to the second chapter when a shadow fell across the page.

Clouds did this all the time, so Kyousuke didn't look up. Even the tapping on the window didn't distract him at first. Tree branches had a way of doing that on windy days....except that he wasn't in his bedroom with the trees outside, he was in a high floor of a city building. And the shadow across his blankets was human-shaped.

It was so unexpected that Kyousuke didn't think to ring for the nurse. He pulled back the curtain instead...

...and stared.

Sayaka, kneeling in some kind of bizarre cosplay outfit on the narrow ledge outside, put a finger to her llps.

Mouth hanging open, Kyousuke nodded. (How could Sayaka have gotten there? What could she possibly be—?) She pointed to the far side of the room with a warning look, and he checked — the door was closed, there was no one there — to turn back at a sudden gust of cold air, and see her landing lightly on the floor beside his bed. "Hi," she said, with a shy wave.

"H-how did you do that?" exclaimed Kyousuke. "What's happened to you? ...Why are you in a _cape?_ "

 

***

 

"Okay. I'll find a way."

Sayaka could have cheered. She hadn't tried to explain anything more to Kyousuke than she had to her family, but here he was, accepting the need to be out of the city before this week was over. All the risks she'd taken, leaving Madoka alone and coming here in broad daylight, had been worth it.

"I don't understand why this all has to be so secret!" added Kyousuke. "It isn't even on the news that you're alive. Shizuki-san had to tell me, and she didn't think she was supposed to."

Sayaka did a double-take. "Hitomi's been visiting you?"

"Mmhmm. She'll be here again tomorrow — do you want me to warn her about the storm? Then she can pass it on to other people, without you having to risk being out in the open any more."

It was a good plan. Sayaka was embarrassed she hadn't thought of delivering her whole message through Hitomi in the first place. "Will you, please? Even if nobody else believes her, at least you two and your families can be safe."

Kyousuke nodded. "Just leave it to me."

Sayaka smiled, then closed her eyes and checked for Akemi. Half a mile to her left. A safe distance. "I have to go now, okay? If everything goes well, I'll see you next week."

She put one gloved hand against one of the larger upper windowpanes. and the glass rippled before flowing out of the way, leaving a shield-shaped opening large enough for her to comfortably climb through. A cool wind blew through the room, tossing her hair and making the swan-white cape billow in her wake.

"One more thing," she added. "Tell Hitomi I said...I have to take care of Madoka now, so she had better take good care of you in my place, okay?"

Kyousuke took it with a good-natured grin. And why not? When you first learned that this world had magic, before you found out about any of the drawbacks, it was easy to be happy. "I will. See you later, Sayaka."

 

***

**April 26  
Tuesday**

Sayaka cupped her Soul Gem in the palm of her hand and stared into its murky depths.

Madoka didn't have to ask what she was thinking. All the techniques Sayaka had been testing, from manipulating objects to scaling skyscrapers, had taken their toll. It wasn't long before she would need another Grief Seed.

"You'll take me with you," said Madoka, leaning over Sayaka's shoulders.

It wasn't a question, but neither was it one of those orders Sayaka jumped to obey. "You would be safer here."

"Loan me a sword. Any familiars get too close to me, I...I'll hit them over the head." Madoka nuzzled her cheek against Sayaka's neck. "Once we're in the center of the labyrinth, build a shield over me."

Mami had suspected that any puella magi could find a way to extend her powers into a shield or wall. For her, the building material was ribbons. For Kyoko, diamond chains. Sayaka's experiments had come up with crisscrossing silver wires, like an impossibly fine chain-link fence. As long as she was alive, it stayed in place whether she was paying attention or not, only dissolving at her conscious command.

"What if it gets me?" demanded Sayaka. "Any sword or shield you've gotten from me will fall apart. You'll be helpless."

"What if it gets you because a familiar sneaks up on you and I wasn't there to hit it over the head?" countered Madoka.

Sayaka groaned in wordless disapproval.

"I can't stay here," added Madoka quietly. "It isn't like when you go for food and things. I'd be left sitting alone, wondering what's happening to you, not knowing when or if you'll be back. I'll panic, Sayaka. I'll get sick, or...I don't know. The day Homura was late...." She shuddered. "It'll be so much worse. You can't leave me to that."

The sapphire jewel shifted back into a ring, freeing both of Sayaka's hands to wrap around Madoka's. "Then I'll just have to make sure not to lose."

 

***

 

They filled the time before sunset with...call it mutual reassurance.

Partway through, Sayaka admitted to the effects of gentle fingers across the surface of her Soul Gem. It turned out the earlier incidental touch had only given her a shadow of how Madoka could make her feel when it was deliberate.

In the cuddling afterward, Madoka's arm curled around Sayaka's bare midriff with Sayaka holding her around the shoulders, she said, "Does it seem...brighter to you?"

Sayaka turned the egg-shaped jewel over, studying its glow. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought the dark swirls didn't seem quite so dark. "A little."

"I don't suppose...we could forget about the witch-hunting, and...." There was no way she was going to be able to finish that sentence. Her face had already heated up enough for Sayaka to feel the blush against her chest.

"It wasn't _that_ good," muttered Sayaka. "I-I mean — as a _strategy_ it isn't good, not that _you_ weren't — um."

Madoka giggled. "It's okay, I understand. If that worked as well as fighting witches, we wouldn't be the first people to figure it out."

 

***

 

Following witch trails with Sayaka's Soul Gem was slower than using her finding power, but according to Mami it wouldn't drain her magic, so trails it was.

She stopped at the mouth of an alley between two buildings of the Mitakihara Galleria, and Madoka got her first sight of the entrance to a barrier: a mandala unfolding in the air, a spinning mass of symmetrical scribbles with a star-and-diamond sigil outlined in the center. Sayaka shifted into uniform with a flourish, wordlessly handed Madoka a short sword, and pried it open.

The full thing was more disorienting than anything Madoka had experienced so far. A groundless field of green, yellow, and white light blossomed around them, littered with what looked like giant crayons and handprints left in paint. Liquid dripped from some impossible height down the non-walls around them, neon streaks in the shifting darkness. Looking from herself to Sayaka, Madoka realized they were casting mismatched shadows....

A flurry of motion appeared in the corner of her eye; Madoka squeaked and did an unhelpful flail with her sword. Familiars? No, the rubber balls bounced harmlessly past her....

Sayaka sucked in a breath, produced a dozen swords with a swirl of her cape, and hurled them one-two-three at a crayoned shape in the air.

The creature shrieked and giggled, pinned to a note-paper wall. It was like a child's drawing, bright orange face with green hair on a lumpy body that rode (grew out of?) a bright pink car: a three-dimensional scribble that burst into an explosion of color like a paintball hurled against the wall.

It was dizzying. It was visually _wrong_. Madoka had a headache already.

"Come on!" urged Sayaka, and she stumbled to follow.

More crayoned not-figures flooded out of nowhere as they descended: armless girls with green braids or purple twintails, giant tongues and sometimes tiny crowns, in planes, train cars, boats, automobiles. Sayaka dispatched them whip-fast with her standard swords, then began to experiment. A ten-foot broadsword tore through three familiars at once.

A blade sliced in an arc along the ground in front of her, leaving in its trail a lattice of silver wires that sprouted upward and swallowed two more foes. She tightened the prison to the size of a fist, but these familiars didn't explode until she ran a rapier through them to finish the job.

At some point, moving forward, she fell into a rhythm in which not one of her swords missed its target. Madoka, tripping along behind, didn't fully recognize it until she looked at Sayaka's boots. Step-slide-step. Step-slide-step.

She was waltzing with the enemy.

Scribbled cartoon doors began to appear on the walls. They all looked the same to Madoka, but Sayaka sword-danced in a decisive arc toward one, nodded to Madoka, and slashed.

The whole paper wall tore under her blade, shredding aside to reveal a new kind of room altogether.

"The witch itself will be in here," said Sayaka...then choked.

This was a full-fledged playroom, less non-Euclidian in its geometry, littered with alphabet blocks the size of armchairs (printed with no alphabet Madoka knew) and crayons as big as body pillows. Playing with one of the crayons, drawing a lopsided spiral on a sheet of paper nearly the size of a baseball diamond, was....

"They're not supposed to be..." Sayaka swallowed, hard. "They're not supposed to _look_ human!"

It was the towering doll-shape of a young girl, maybe eight years old. Blonde curls were gathered in two puffs on either side of her pale, painted face; she wore an adorable patched pair of bloomer-overalls, and brightly-colored mismatched socks.

The witch raised its eyeless head and smiled at them.

Sayaka found her feet again just as the witch touched the paper, and a flurry of new familiars bounced toward them, giggles ringing in Madoka's ears. But her aim was faltering now. One shot in every two or three went wild, blades stabbing into the colossal toys that passed for scenery.

A familiar got far enough past to dive happily at Madoka — she brandished her own sword, only to be reprieved at the last second when a dome of silver filigree swirled up and around her. The creature smacked into it and wriggled for a moment before one of Sayaka's rapiers pierced it through.

When the last of the scribbles was dispatched, the witch was nowhere to be found.

But that, at least, was Sayaka's specialty. She drew from nowhere a two-handed broadsword, its blade longer than she was tall, and charged directly at a pile of building blocks. They exploded into splinters, revealing the hiding witch.

It took one slash from Sayaka's sword...and its porcelain face scrunched up, its painted lips wobbled, and tears began to roll down its cheeks.

Sayaka leaped back to the high ground of a tall stack of alphabet blocks — shoulders heaving, no swords on her now, no more moves to attack — the witch wasn't countering, just looking pitiful with its ripped jumper and its lovingly arranged puffs and the hurt on its childish face....

"It isn't a child!" shouted Madoka. Had to snap Sayaka out of the trance she'd frozen into. Had to do it _now_. "It isn't human any more! It's hurting people. Killing people. The girl it used to be, the real girl, wouldn't want that! She would be praying for someone to help her stop!"

With a pained scream, Sayaka let loose a spinning typhoon of bright-edged steel. For a few seconds the dazzling volley of light was all Madoka could see.

Then the witch, its body full of grimy-edged holes like note paper smudged with graphite, snarled and threw itself into Sayaka's pile of blocks, and the battle was truly on.

A few more exchanges of blows, and it was settled. Sayaka dodged the massive weapons the witch hurled at her, tore and shredded its next sheet of massive paper before it could birth more familiars, sliced it with merciless hard edges and punched holes through it with stinging points. There was no mistaking it for a human now. With parts of its body hanging by threads, it moved like a shambling, bloodless parody of humanity, until at last it collapsed in the same way.

The barrier dissolved around them. They were left standing in an alley with an industrial feeling, pipes running all over the walls, but when Madoka looked at her feet she realized they were standing on smooth diamond-patterned stonework. This had been a well-kept place, once. Now it was dusty stone and groaning pipes and the shreds of forgotten posters still hanging on the walls.

Sayaka was on her knees twenty feet down, a lightly smoking Grief Seed embedded in the pavement not far away.

 

***

**April 27  
Wednesday**

Sayaka had tossed and turned in dreams before, but this was her first screaming nightmare. Madoka had get on top of her, shake her by both shoulders, and call for half a minute before she reacted: "It's okay, Sayaka, it's okay, you have to calm down! You have to be quiet or someone will hear us. You're safe, please, calm down!"

Sayaka's chest was heaving, her tank top and hair plastered to her skin with sweat. "Madoka?" she croaked. "H-hands...."

"It isn't real, Sayaka. It was a nightmare. There's nobody here but us."

"Have to...to wash my hands." Sayaka was trying to thrash against Madoka's grip, too out of it to make much headway.

Madoka gulped. "Look for people who were disturbed by the noise, okay? Then you can wash up."

The jewel in the ring sitting beside the bed flickered, like an LED in the near-darkness. "Can't find any," Sayaka panted. "Lemme go."

She ended up staggering still-clothed into the shower, only peeling the fabric off her body after it was soaked through. The wet clothes ended up hanging off the sink while she sat on the floor, hugging a towel around her body and letting Madoka comb her hair.

 

***

 

"We've booked a week in a hotel in Iwakami City. Up north, on the coast. Sayaka-chan's parents have agreed to come for a few days too."

Tearing up with relief, Madoka wrote down the address.

"Our precious things are being packed up to come along, too," added her mother. "Important papers, souvenirs, photographs, the laptops of course...and we've left space in the last suitcase. Is there anything from your room you want us to bring?"

"Um..." _(The first room she pictured was the cell underground — it took so much effort to envision her own bedroom — and still the cell and this series of hotels kept bleeding through — but why would she need any of it — she'd been torn away from everything stable twice in the space of a month already — so why try to cling to things? — you'll lose them soon enough anyway — and can survive just fine without them!)_ "...N-no thank you, Mama. I'll be fine."

 

***

**April 28  
Thursday**

A handful of bills fanned out in Sayaka's grip. Enough cash to buy two one-way train tickets to Iwakami.

"The last thing we'll have to steal?" said Madoka hopefully.

"The last thing we'll have to steal," agreed Sayaka.

Happiness looked good on Madoka. Granted, everything looked good on Madoka. But it was happiness that she deserved — a long, peaceful, cheerful life with good friends and people who loved her. What price was Sayaka willing to pay to give her that chance?

"Madoka, I...."

"Hm?"

Sayaka stared at her hands. They looked so clean in broad daylight.

"Sayaka? Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing." Sayaka shook herself off, gave Madoka a wan smile. "I didn't like having to do it...but there's no way I'll ever regret it. That's all I wanted to say."


	18. The time I try to keep her closest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Ich steige schon dreyhundert Jahr,_  
>  Und kann den Gipfel nicht erreichen.
> 
> _I'm climbing now three hundred years,_  
>  And yet the summit cannot see.
> 
> —Goethe's _Faust_ (tr. Bayard Taylor)

**April 29  
Friday**

Hitomi had three books in her bag, and was running her hand along the spines of Kamijou's collection looking for the last one on his list, when the door swished open behind her. "Just a minute!"

Nobody answered. Strange. You would expect a nurse to say "okay" or "just hurry up" or something.

Sure enough, when Hitomi went to look, it wasn't a nurse. It was her familiar classmate with the long dark hair (no braids in it now, the two sections hanging loose and tangled) and cherry-red glasses, frozen and staring just outside the door of Kyousuke's room.

"Akemi-san!" exclaimed Hitomi. "You're okay! When you didn't come to school, we were all scared that maybe—"

"I had a relapse I am taking a medical absence," said Akemi in a single breath. Her perpetual stammer was nowhere to be heard. "Kamijou Kyousuke is...still here?"

"No, sorry. He's visiting a new nerve specialist in Asunaro City." Hitomi patted her bag. "I'm going up tonight to visit, so I'm bringing some of his books. Um, did you want to tell him something? I could deliver a message, if you wanted."

"This doesn't happen." Akemi was addressing the far wall, as if she had forgotten Hitomi was there. "He should be back in school he shouldn't be in treatment this is never how it happens...."

And then she was back to staring. Did her heart condition include something about seizures? "Are you feeling okay?" asked Hitomi, peering nervously at her. "Do you want me to call a doctor?"

"It's my fault," breathed Akemi.

"Sorry?"

"I've screwed it up, that's why, I changed too much and now who knows how many wild cards there are, I don't know how to handle —" Her head whipped around to look directly at Hitomi. "Sayaka with a contract and the boy still paralyzed it _doesn't happen_. Don't you see? Of course you don't, you're never any use — she's toxic either way but if you didn't _push_ her — and after that it doesn't matter what you do, you might die every time for all I know —"

"Akemi-san! You're being very — very rude!" exclaimed Hitomi. None of her lessons had covered the elegant way to handle being insulted by a peer who was clearly going unhinged.

"But hey, you never know, this might just be the change that does it!" Akemi was breathing harder now, hands tensing, clawing at the air. "I can't imagine how — but what do I know? The whole universe would never have become the way it is right now if I'd had any clue how much it planned to fuck me over —"

She was distant again, her thoughts all somewhere else. Hitomi started inching toward the emergency call button.

"I've never lost her before." Akemi laughed, once: a short, dry, despairing sound. "The time I try to keep her closest ends up being the only time I lose her."

The wide red plastic button was an eyesore on Kamijou's carved wooden bed. Hitomi stood in front of it, nodding as if Akemi had her undivided attention, feeling for it behind her back.

"May as well go play this out this regardless," said Akemi hoarsely. "No sense in wasting good explosives, right?"

Two seconds after the button went down, she vanished into thin air.

 

***

 

There was a single police officer standing watch in the lobby of Sayaka's apartment complex, with at least two more watching the grounds.

Sayaka went in through the window.

The empty home didn't hold her long. Mami's notebooks went in a neat stack on top of her desk. The Grief Seed she had won got a place on her bureau. It was too full to use for any more Soul Gem cleansings; the scribbling witch would be born again if she tried. Later she could work on a safe way to dispose of it that didn't involve asking Kyuubei.

The last thing she did was shift out-of-uniform long enough to trade the borrowed clothes for a set of her own: a light blue patterned blouse, a navy pair of shorts, and comfortable, well-broken-in loafers. Until now she had never really appreciated the luxury of getting to wear a bra that fit.

Moving by night was second nature to her now. She slipped out of the complex unnoticed, and cut a shadowy figure under the waning crescent moon, heading for Madoka's house.

 

***

**April 30  
The Night Before**

The evacuation order had finally gone out.

A crawl was running at the base of every television, every channel. The big screen in the central metro station was playing the news, too, with the warning emphasized by the simple message scrolling repeatedly across the bottom: _Flood warning for Mitakihara City and Kasamino City, April 30 through May 2. Residents should move to approved disaster shelters. For information about your local shelter, call...._

In spite of this, the inter-city train platform was no more packed than usual, and it was a short wait in line to get to a ticket machine. Minor floods were common in the area, and plenty of people wouldn't even leave their homes for a warning like this, much less flee the region.

"I wish...I mean, if only we could get everyone to at least go to shelters," murmured Madoka, squeezing Sayaka's hand. The crowd was making her jumpy.

Sayaka harrumphed. "If they're not going to listen to the official disaster agencies, how are a couple of teenage girls supposed to get through to them?"

"That's true."

It did boost Madoka's confidence to be back in fitting clothes, even if the whole outfit was concealed by one of the hooded raincoats. The high-waisted dark rose dress went nicely with dark tights and lavender ribbons, and of course everything deserved to be paired with shoes that didn't chafe.

Under a darkening grey sky, the train pulled in.

They found a free high-backed bench quickly. Madoka slid in by the window, Sayaka next to the aisle. Madoka fished the phone out of her coat's inside pocket (not the one Panda-san was stuffed into, the other one) and checked the online storm tracker again. Sayaka retrieved one of the water bottles she'd been carrying and had a drink.

"What's the top thing you want to do when we get back home?" asked Madoka.

Sayaka started. "I don't know! Why?"

"It doesn't matter," stammered Madoka. "I wanted to talk about something, that's all. It can be something else if you want."

After another tensed moment, Sayaka let herself relax. "I miss having good speakers," she said. "Even when we had music, all we had was tinny laptop speakers. I want to play some songs and really hear the sound."

"That's a good one."

"So how about you? What are you looking forward to? Besides therapy, I mean."

Madoka giggled. "You'll think it's crazy, but I really do want to get back to school."

"...telling you, it's gonna be some kinda all-out gang war."

And there went the tension again, Sayaka perking up and pricking her ears at the two guys on the train seat in front of them.

"You are so full of it," said the second man. "Even the Yakuza aren't sticking around in the flood plain tonight."

"After the storm, you moron!" replied the first man who had spoken. "Or maybe in the next city over, who knows? Look, my cousin's in the JSDF, I hear things, all right? Someone's been making off with the big-time military hardware. Security people say it's like it's evaporating right outta the bases. Gotta be an _operation_ behind that kind of work."

"Or maybe the JSDF can't keep its inventory straight," said his companion. "When was the last time you heard of any of those people being competent? Present company's family excepted, obviously."

"Hey, man, I'm just trying to warn you. If you don't have the sense to listen to good intel when you get it...."

"I'm going to be listening to my music in a minute."

The argument petered out, leaving Madoka to put her hand gently on Sayaka's knee. "Dear...."

"I guess school won't seem so bad now," said Sayaka, lacing their fingers together. "Wonder how many boyfriends Saotome-sensei's gone through while we were away."

 

***

 

The train was pulling into its first stop, at the northern edge of the city, when Sayaka excused herself to go to the bathroom. Madoka, now checking the directions to their parents' hotel for the umpteenth time, gave her a distracted nod.

A few minutes later, with the train humming along past trees and power lines and a nearby highway, Sayaka hadn't returned. And Madoka finally looked at what she had left behind.

The neatly folded note was held in place by the one remaining water bottle.

_Madoka,_

_Guess I'm writing this, even if I haven't decided to give it to you yet. It still isn't too late to take the easy way out._

_See, the thing is, I lied earlier. There was something that could have defeated Walpurgis Night. But I was selfish and a coward and I couldn't give it up. And if I take your hand and run away now, I can completely get away with it! How's that for justice?_

_If I leave this note for you, it means I decided not to run away._

_Even if I can't defeat this thing, maybe I can save some people during the fight. They deserve at least that much from me, right? If I don't make it back, well, at least I'll have gone out feeling like less of a terrible person. Please remember me like that, okay?_

_And if someone else comes along one day who would do anything to protect you, please don't think I'll mind. Because that's what you deserve, even if it can't be me._

_I love you so much. Please keep yourself safe. If you do that, I'll have no regrets._

_< 3 Sayaka_

 

***

 

The clouds are black and steel-grey, racing across the sky under gale-force winds, their edges made razor-sharp with flashes of lightning. Water sluices and chops frantically at the banks of the river. The only lights on the streets are the flashing blue signals of a handful of emergency vehicles, fireflies sending out lonely pulses into the cold and the dark.

A dull miasma sweeps across open stretches of pavement. To most eyes it's no more than low-lying fog. Most ears don't hear the echoes of applause, or the pitter-pat of little feet that don't yet fully exist.

But no one, down to the least magic-sensitive of all humanity, no one with so much as a handful of sense wants to be out here right now.

 

***

 

(so it's probably a good thing she's _fucking crazy_ by this point, isn't it)

 

***

**May 1  
The Morning Of**

Sayaka made her way to the roof of the hospital.

She didn't have to do a search to choose the spot. The feelings of a witch trail were thick in the air, loss and hurt and hopelessness flowing forward in lazy spirals. All she had to do was follow them until the sensation got choking, then pick a perch and wait for all that despair to finish gathering.

It wasn't the greatest perch, no matter how thematically appropriate. The wind was at its hardest up here, and bitter cold as if it had come from the dead of winter rather than the start of spring. It whipped Sayaka's hair into a messy frenzy; it made her shorts and blouse snap around her skin. Her arms and legs were _freezing_.

Transfiguring her clothes would waste energy. Transforming too early would burn through even more....

( _You have to take care of yourself, Sayaka,_ Madoka would have said.)

But a twist on healing magic...since she was healthy and whole to start with, that would be cheap. She dipped into the smallest fraction of her power, made her body work that much harder. Got her blood flowing.

(Other things she didn't dare waste energy on: checking to find out where Madoka was, if the train had arrived safely, if she was with her parents. Every drop of her magic could easily be drained on keeping track of those answers.)

Flashes of color began to appear through the fog on the ground below, and in streamers leading up to the sky. Bright creatures, like circus clowns or puppets at a children's show. Although they looked like familiars, they registered in Sayaka's soul gem as no threat. Pieces of what would have been a barrier, nothing more. Cardboard cutouts to form the backdrop of the show.

Wide awake and burning with determination, Sayaka stood ready to play her part.

 

***

 

the sigil of the gate appears, with lines of rainbow banners streaming down from where it spins against the clouds

and then she's _there_

the debris of the city starts to lift (it's just the start, the sky will soon be filled with bits of buildings thrown around like so much trash), exploding into flames of red and gold and purple to announce her entrance

(she didn't need to do that: there's already a fifty-one rocket-launcher salute heading her way)

 

***

 

Sayaka heard it before she saw it. Shrieking, bone-chilling laughter with the echo of a deep well.

The witch was a blank-faced doll in a deep blue gown like a medieval princess, all white ruffles and bell sleeves and gold-braided trim, suspended from the bottom of a set of gears. It was impossible to tell the scale from here; it could have been the size of a blimp or a hundred meters high.

Sayaka's own outfit flashed into existence around her. Not so different in the color scheme, but with more armor, more leather.

Walpurgis Night shrieked and chortled and spat flame. More flames exploded from the far side of its dress — or were those exploding _on_ the far side of its dress, some kind of ranged fire attack — _stolen military hardware_ — but Sayaka couldn't worry about the details, not when she was trying to conjure a thousand cutlasses at once —

When the strain on her concentration was all but crushing, Sayaka sent the barrage forward. She hadn't made it to a thousand, but this shimmering volley of hundreds of magic blades stabbing it in the back would do for an opening move.

She didn't get to watch them all hit home, because a chunk of masonry was hurtling straight for her.

Sayaka's gloved hands closed around the hilt of a sword as tall as a house and almost half a meter from edge to back. The concrete sliced apart like butter, the pieces falling aside. It was followed by the twisted metal of a radio signal tower. This time Sayaka leaped, used the missile as a platform, and half-ran, half-flew across it until she had the right angle to leap to the next building closer.

Something a few floors below her exploded. Glass shattered. The side of the skyscraper belched thick smoke.

No time to worry about that either. If the building started crumbling, she could jump again. Right now — more swords.

 

***

 

her aim is off, she's making things blow up she didn't mean to

but honestly: Homura isn't trying to aim.

This isn't about winning, it doesn't matter if she wins because she doesn't know where Madoka is, this is about burning off as much rage as possible before she starts everything over so she has at least some chance of acting like a normal human after she wakes up tomorrow

_Next time I'll do it right_

she fires and fires and fires, watches buildings she's seen crumble in a hundred different ways find a whole new way to lie in pieces on the ground

_No more wasting time with basements, dresses, furniture, no more trying to find the perfect explanation that will finally make her understand, no more dropping hints with that goddamn unwinnable game_

(someone wished into existence in an irregular timeline seven years ago; she never found out what caused that one and she's never seen it repeated since)

her rhythm's off — it's drifted almost past the industrial park towers when she hits the trigger and the first one topples straight past it — with a metal scream it hits the chopping water

_Next time I'll do the serious thing and flee the country_

_where no one, even Miki Sayaka, will have the luck to find her_

she freezes time and races through the dim and silent darkness for the oil tanker

(unless it wasn't luck? oh hell _that was her wish_ , Homura's sure of it)

the witch is passing by the bridge — the tanker races up the metal arches, soars, and hits it in the face as she leaps away and drops into the safety of the river — it explodes, a blinding flash, with glass and flaming rubble trailing past her — her kneecap takes a whack but then she's under water, there's a scraped and charred hole in her stocking but it isn't smoking, won't get worse —

_would she buy that it was hopeless, and not even worth a wish, if what they found in the river was more than Madoka's shoes and phone?_

(her healing magic's good enough to fix some serious damage in another person — say, regrow a hand)

she grabs a chunk of metal, searing, steaming, and propels it to the shoreline

but the witch's laughter now is joined by rows of girlish giggles: the familiars are released

and Homura's laughing too — the joke's on them, this is what she wants — forget trying to chase down the big boss, she's happy to blow up these things all day, so much more satisfying — at least they have the sense to go _down_ when they get a faceful of mortar

_It's all your fault I have to do this whole damn thing again so COME AT ME_

 

***

 

The first familiar caught Sayaka so off-guard that all she could do was stab. A dark shape shredded under her steel, its unearthly giggle erupting into a shriek.

Two more bounced through the air above the overpass as Sayaka sprinted down the median, flat and featureless as cutouts in the texture of the world. Except for the flashes of a starry backdrop on the other side, they were so dark that the air around them glowed in comparison —

— and they had the shapes of girls.

"Don't remind me!" cried Sayaka, lobbing another cutlass at the shape of a girl with a ruffled skirt and what was either a strange headdress or hair in two tight buns. "I know! Okay? I know, and there's nothing else I can do but this! I can't _save_ you!"

The first shape tore apart with a screech, but the second, with twintails and bobbles on her shoes and what looked like a magic wand with a freaking _ribbon_ on it, hit her head-on and sent her flying.

Sayaka screamed as she skidded across the pavement. The familiar twirled and danced for a moment, but when Sayaka rolled to a stop it was after her in an instant — she hurt too much to get up, and her healing magic wasn't that fast —

Choking back tears from the full-body pain, she waited until the apparition was almost on her, then made a forest of two-meter rapiers shoot up at all angles from the pavement.

The second familiar was pierced and gone. The blades clattered to the ground. Sayaka gritted her teeth and threw everything she had into healing, as quickly as she could, before the next round pirouetted into view or another torn-off piece of skyscraper was thrown her way.

 

***

 

and the hell of it is that she _knows_ these shapes, she's had a complete and numbered catalog for decades now, their silhouettes are as familiar as most of the puella magi she's ever met — sometimes she can even link them up to witches, that one with the wand and tail is Charlotte, this one with the long hair and wings at her heels is Elly — and other times it's easy since she's met them, the cloud-shaped headdress of Umika, the cat-eared hood and giant bow of tiny Yuma —

— she used to flinch at boots, puffed sleeves, and spiral curls, but now she doesn't bat an eye, not even at the ones with bows at heels and waist and twintails —

_—You are a very unusual case, Akemi Homura.—_

(she doesn't even look, just sprays a hail of bullets till the stupid chirpy not-a-voice shuts up)

 

***

 

Sleepy passengers filed off the train, alone and in groups, some dragging suitcases, most yawning. Even the new people boarding, who hadn't spent the last few hours trying to doze on a stiff cushion in a jumpy car, didn't have much energy. The attendant did a slow walk down the aisle, collecting tickets and checking for lost belongings.

He stopped at the last row, where the bench to his right was empty except for a couple of lonely items.

One was a phone. That was good. People came looking for phones, which meant the other things would get rescued as well. He gathered them up to put in a box for the lost-and-found, labeled with the trip number and the name of the station and everything.

After all, the poor kid who had lost this well-loved stuffed panda deserved to get it back.

 

***

 

Under a dead streetlamp in an endless row of dead streetlamps, Sayaka staggered to a stop, grabbing the metal post to keep from falling over.

The shadow of Walpurgis Night floated like a mirage down the roadway ahead of her, wider than its eight lanes. Mundane fires were starting to spring up in its wake, smoke drifting skyward from hotels and office buildings with their tops ripped off or holes gouged in their sides, ash joining the concrete and girders and glass already floating below the clouds.

And she couldn't keep up.

A familiar with frilly socks and a crown atop its massive puff of curls shot up toward her, cackling. Sayaka enchanted the lamppost. The base bent under her hand like tinfoil; the top whacked the star-filled silhouette to the pavement, its bulb leaving a starburst of shattered glass across the asphalt. Once it was pinned, a sloppily aimed dagger was enough to finish it off.

No kind of training could have gotten her in shape for this in two weeks. Her lungs were burning, seizing with every breath; her muscles were getting painfully stiff. She could pump more magic into them, but the blue shield on her chest was already roiling with darkness, and if she kept taking out familiars she would only keep falling behind.

She could stop. Give up on chasing the Big Bad, let the familiars come to her, maximize the number she wiped out before her soul gem went black.

But no. The laughing spectre with its rippling skirt and turning gears would only keep spitting out more of them. Sayaka had to take this thing out at the source, or die trying.

_And even if that's my fate, I'm not going to despair._

Her mind was filled with Madoka's face. Madoka's laugh. The soft and heated and perfect touch of Madoka's hands.

_Because I got to protect you, no matter what else happens, I'll have no regrets._

Drawing all possible strength from those memories, Sayaka poured it into this fragile body.

This time, when she ran, it was to leave the familiars in the dust. Six stories plunged down towards her, all with floor-to-ceiling glass windows; she leaped onto one corner and scaled it as it fell, launching herself from the roof. She touched down on the science center, made another flying leap to the iconic tiered roof of the Hanokage Building, dodged a stray flurry of what looked like office furniture, and kept right on going, closing the distance with every jump until she began to feel the heat of Walpurgis Night's flames.

_For this one, I think I'll use cutlasses._

 

***

 

_—I have no record of contracting you.—_

(AK-47 to the gut; a white body collapses onto the roof of a smashed car)

_—Your wish, the exact nature of your powers, are all unknown to me.—_

(hand grenade in the face; the next fluffy form lands with a thump in the mud under a well-cultivated sidewalk tree)

_—A fascinating case of—_

(she goes for a rocket launcher this time, splatters red across the movie posters plastered on a wall)

_—Could it be—_

(why the hell is he so _persistent_ , usually he gets the message after one or two explosions)

 

***

 

She still didn't manage a thousand, but it was pretty close.

As she fell, uniform dissolving into ordinary clothes, she saw pieces of the doll's fancy gown shredded and torn off by the first line of the barrage.

Something had flooded this area, leaving the ground awash with puddles that reflected the clouds' sickly light. To Sayaka's dazed eyes it looked as if there was nothing for her to hit.

 

***

 

_—that your wish had something to do—_

(didn't even realize she still _had_ this old pipe bomb)

_—with the girl called Kaname Madoka—_

(classic Beretta 92, they've never done her wrong)

_—who is perhaps five blocks from where we stand?—_


	19. Just another form of insanity

**May 1  
Walpurgisnacht**

There were many things Madoka had learned while on the run with Sayaka, and one of these was that the Heinrich Plaza had _terrible_ security. You could get to any floor, even out onto the roof, with no key or special authorization necessary.

A stolen bicycle and a well-ingrained habit of keeping to the shadows had gotten her across the city, covering most of the distance in the bleak grey light before the cackling, spinning apparition manifested in front of the clouds. Now she knew, without fully understanding how, that what she needed was height.

The main doors were all locked during the evacuation, of course, but a couple of solid rocks through the window got her in.

She ran up.

 

***

 

Sayaka lay flattened on a stretch of sidewalk, too numb to know if she'd broken anything, too drained to move and find out.

Her legs and half her left side were in a puddle, quietly soaking. The water was flowing, a rush of it just audible, somewhere close: an exploded fire hydrant, maybe. In her curled hand was the gold-set egg of her Soul Gem, its depths a sickening black with only the barest flecks of blue. For a second she thought it flickered brighter...but no, that was the neon sign of the club across the street, trying to turn itself on with whatever backup generator was limping along at its back.

Was the witch still cackling? She couldn't tell. The water, the fizzling of the neon, the nearby flames and citywide crumbling, it all blended together into meaningless white noise. And over it layered echoes of sounds that couldn't be happening, not right now. Madoka's precious laugh. Hitomi's shriek of scandalized delight. The firecracker explosion of Mami firing a hundred muskets in quick succession. Kyousuke's violin, hitting the most exquisite notes, before collapsing into a dissonant screech like the wail of a tortured cat.

_Mami, the senpai you abandoned to die. Hitomi and Kyousuke, the friends you gave a special warning when almost no one else you knew got one. Madoka, the girl whose happiness you're paying for with how many lives?_

No. She wouldn't listen. She knew she'd done the best she could.

_And this is really the best of a hero of justice?_

Sayaka dropped the soul gem (it slid from her palm to the sidewalk, and spun in a little circle before rolling to a stop) and conjured one last sword as her vision blurred. A short one. A dagger, really.

She knew what was happening. Her last duty, then, was to keep the city safe from herself.

 _How is that fair? Why protect a world..._ "...that's forced you to become like this?"

The figure that had appeared was ghostly, unreal, but amazingly clear compared to the haze that surrounded it. A girl. A strange little girl who moved with all the natural grace of a video-game zombie, wearing a ragged cape and an adult-sized knight's helmet with the visor up to reveal her blue-eyed face. She smiled. Her hands dripped red.

"But you don't have to put up with it," said the witch Sayaka would become. "Isn't that exciting? You can create your own perfect world, where there's none of this messiness...no hard choices to make...nothing to make you feel guilty. A simple castle just like in fairy tales, with a beautiful girl inside that you can protect forever."

 _No,_ thought Sayaka, and dragged her knife, mostly by feel, toward her own throat.

 

***

 

Madoka was lucky. The Plaza still had its full height.

Or at least, part of it did.

She rattled open the door to stumble out onto the roof, and had to skid to a stop: a few meters from her shoes, half of the top floor had been ripped away. Through the gaping hole she could see the outlines of a luxury suite, a twisted pipe spewing water in a graceful arc over the enormous raised bathtub, a torn curtain clinging to what was left of one wall as its ends flapped in the breeze. She didn't dare look close enough to tell whether any of the occupants had stayed.

And overhead floated Walpurgis Night itself, the monster of gears and lace straight out of her nightmares, shrill laughter rattling a cityful of broken windows.

It would be attacked soon. It had to be. Any minute now she would see the glitter of distant swords, and be able to trace their path to find out where Sayaka was aiming from.

_And even if she's...gone...then maybe I'll see explosions instead. Maybe I can find Homura._

 

***

 

which way which way WHICH WAY

_—And why should I tell you that, Akemi Homura?—_

because

(the Incubator's throat is in her hands now, not like he cares)

because if you do

(there's nothing she can threaten him with, there never is)

and I find her

(but bribery...)

then I'll have no choice but to lose the rest of my mind and become a witch

that's what you believe, isn't it

that what we call _love_ is just another form of insanity

_—You are certainly not doing much to disprove the theory.—_

 

***

 

Her vision was telescoping, the edges swallowed up by blackness. The witch's pout was going to be the last thing Sayaka saw.

_Gruoch ingen Boite, the bloodstained witch. Her nature is to fall in love. The witch continues to dream of a waltz resounding in the middle of a wide-open ballroom, a feeling that moved her deeply in past days. Her fortune only turns under the weight of memories and no longer moves toward the future. Nothing will reach her any longer. Her minions are Holger, whose duty is to perform, and Persephone, whose duty is to dance endlessly._

But she could feel the cold steel, the first scrape of its edge...

...and then...

...the darkness began to melt away.

No more apparition. No more static. The world unblurred and resolved slowly back into focus.

The first thing Sayaka saw was her soul gem, swirling with brightest sky-blue. Tapped gently against its surface was a grief seed, with the same emblem outlined in iron on its point and on its body: a five-petaled flower.

And the first thing she _heard_ was, "Come on, rookie, get up! You think your girlfriend wants you to die here?"

 

***

 

Scaffolding from a construction site drifted through the air, not directly above Madoka's head, but close. If it fell, it would tear a hole out of the building across the road. Farther away she could see cars, the tops of towers with antennae and satellite dishes still perched on their heads, chunks of debris too small and irregular to pin down.

There were pale midair flashes of light, too, baffling until she realized the source. Individual panes and shards of glass were among the wreckage, gently turning, every so often hitting the right angle to reflect a fire on the ground or the unearthly glow the witch carried around.

 _You can stop this,_ a voice in her dreams had said. _You have the power to change destiny._

No, not a voice. The direct-to-mind telepathy of Kyuubei. Which meant unknown layers of misdirection and withheld information and secret motives. What _were_ its motives, anyway? Where had it even come from? How was this much pain and death and destruction useful to it at all?

The breeze was gentler than it had been. Madoka shivered anyway.

One of the tallest chunks of building, its whole side briefly brilliant from reflecting glass, plummeted down to slam at an angle into the roof of a skyscraper made largely of concrete. For once it was the missile itself that crumbled on impact, ugly brown smoke rolling out from all sides and enveloping the crash site, the rumbling and shattering distant but close enough to make Madoka stumble backward.

It had been stupid of her to come here. Stupid to think some ordinary girl could find a mahou shoujo in a war zone. If Sayaka used her powers, Sayaka could come to Madoka easily; but she was either dead or not looking. And why should she? There was no reason to for her to believe Madoka hadn't listened.

(That had been in the nightmare too, she remembered now. From Homura, this time. _You don't listen!_ )

Walpurgis was moving away from the building Madoka was on...for now. If it came back this way, the Plaza could easily be the next thing ripped from its foundations....

But no, now the laughing spectre had stopped, its gears still tilting forward while its head stayed in one place.

Either it was turning itself over, or something had it tethered by the neck.

 

***

 

"Can you still do 'Rosso Fantasma'?" asked Sayaka, as Kyoko yanked back on the seemingly infinite links of her spear-chain, pulling it taut. "What about 'Heretic Inquisition'?"

"Never thought I'd be glad for Mami's stupid attack names," muttered Kyoko on the balcony beside her. "In a situation like this? Doesn't look like I have a choice, do I?"

"Because there's an ability I've been practicing, it's basically 'Unlimited Magic Bullet Works' with swords, and if you can provide the same kind of support as in Attack Plan—"

"Get going, already!" barked Kyoko. "You just worry about getting yourself into formation, and I'll take care of the rest!"

Sayaka nodded, and without further hesitation sprinted up the links toward the giant faceless head.

A new set of familiars was already zooming down toward her. Hacking them up would be easy — she had a rapier in each hand — the danger was in hitting the limits of her magical balancing abilities. When they were less than a hundred meters from her, bone-white grins the only feature on their giggling not-faces, Kyoko came through. A dozen illusory Sayakas broke off from her position to run alongside, or in front of, or (presumably) behind her, and while most of the silhouettes were confused and fighting phantoms, they were lanced through with spears from below.

Walpurgis was tilting sickeningly above her. Its head twisted, its painted mouth gaping — Sayaka flung her cape in front of her face before she could think about it, just in time to shield from a close-range blast of fire.

The next leap had her hanging on to an eternally-outstretched sleeve.

The chain started retracting, not to pull the witch down but to hoist Kyoko up, while for lack of any better plan Sayaka started trying to hack off its arm. She kept an eye on Kyoko, ready to take her turn stabbing familiars if they got in the way of Kyoko's ascent.

This time Walpurgis skipped the familiars and went straight for making one of the floating chunks of rubble burst into flame, then hurling it downward.

Its aim was perfect.

Seconds later, the stone crumbled and fell away against a shield-wall of diamond-shaped links, with a singed but intact Kyoko holding steadfast on its far side.

 

***

 

_—Three blocks down, take a left, the building on the corner with the front windows broken.—_

Did you trick her into making a contract

_—Your human concept of "trick" means nothing to—_

DID SHE MAKE A CONTRACT

_—Not yet.—_

(there's hope)

you stay the hell away from her you hear me

_—She ordered me away herself some time ago. I have not approached her since.—_

(fuck yeah, Madoka!)

and don't you keep following me either

_—There is no longer any reason to. I've said what I came to say.—_

(don't think about why he's doing this, how he must believe there's something in it for him, just think about how maybe, maybe, maybe this can be the time you thwart him)

(just GO)

 

***

 

Turned out Walpurgis had no qualms about spitting fire at its own limbs.

Kyoko, on one arm, still hadn't finished healing from the last set of burns when it started. Sayaka leaped over and drew her cape in front of both of them just in time. "I can't sense a main part to it!" she shouted over the roar. "Where are we supposed to shoot?"

"I don't know!" cried Kyoko. The ends of her hair were smoking, one of her shoulder-length gloves in charred tatters where she'd flung that arm over her face, the skin underneath renewing fast, but not fast enough. "You get rid of the head, I'll go for the gears!"

Sayaka took aim at the neck, wider across than either girl was tall, and started working on turning it into a pincushion. Kyoko summoned a spear, expanded the head to the size of a tank, and fired it at the junction between the widest gear and the slower one that turned inside it.

The gears caught. Clicked. Their teeth creaked in protest.

Then they lifted up apart and crunched back down, cuing new fires to spring up on all sides, and snapping the spearhead like a matchstick into so many splinters.

 

***

 

Madoka had gotten the scale all wrong.

She never would have been able to see swords at this distance. She could barely see Sayaka, a tiny figure who had somehow made it to the body of the witch, only identifiable by the blue aura that sometimes flashed when she attacked.

At least Sayaka wasn't alone. The figure with her didn't give off Homura's violet, but bursts of an intense red. Kyoko? Or some other puella magi, a stranger, maybe even someone whose contract was new?

_And if she's new enough, maybe Sayaka's search couldn't find her before. Maybe she...or the two of them working together...can win after all._

 

***

 

(she runs and runs and runs

a mercy: the familiars smell retreat and let her go)

 

***

 

An illusory brigade of extra Kyokos distracted most of the final swarm of creepy starry cutout silhouettes, while the real one concentrated on swelling the current spearhead larger than ever. The strategy was holding them, but she was already feeling the strain.

The moment after she launched it upward, one of the familiars bounded up toward the real Sayaka's back.

Kyoko dug her heels into the eerie fabric-covered surface, raised a normal spear, opened her mouth to shout "Behind you!" —

— and froze, because this one had the outlines of a feathered cap, a rippling box-pleated skirt, and gorgeous spiral curls.

It drove its heels into Sayaka's spine with the same canned giggle of all its fellows, knocking her over the side of the arm with a scream. Kyoko pulled herself together and hurled her spear right through it, then grabbed for another to unlink and send flying after Sayaka —

— but she was nowhere to be seen —

 

***

 

Madoka's attention was entirely fixated on the distant battle.

When a figure dropped out of nowhere to land right in front of her face, she nearly had a heart attack.

"What are you _what are you doing here?!_ " demanded a hoarse, battered, wide-eyed Akemi Homura.

 

***

 

— or rather, she hadn't fallen, but had driven a sword hilt-deep into the blue-violet sleeve and was clinging to the very last of its curve, legs hanging off into space.

She was sweating as Kyoko pulled her up, all her movements gone weak and fragile, though she gritted her teeth and tried not to show it. "Do you," she panted, "do you have a...another grief seed?"

That was the question Kyoko had been afraid of. "All out, rookie," she said grimly. "But we've got one final trick up our sleeves. 'Cleansing Flame'."

Sayaka bit her lip. "Don't remember it, sorry."

"Well, lucky for you, it's a solo move. I'll go first. You watch, and if one round doesn't finish this thing off...just do what I did."

In one hand she manifested the grip of the last spear she would ever handle, while with the other she pulled her soul gem from her uniform and tossed it into the air.  
 

***

 

"I'm sorry!" cried Madoka. "I came looking for Sayaka!"

Homura looked awful. Her hair was a mess, her pallid-at-best skin marred with scrapes and soot, her uniform torn and wet and covered with smears of dust or grit. Every breath heaved her whole body; her hands clawed at the air as if she couldn't decide whether to hug Madoka or throttle her. "She's dead!"

Madoka's heart turned to ice. "She's—? But she can't — she's fighting right now—!"

"She's dead she can't be saved she always dies!" cried Homura. "Being a puella magi is the same as being dead. Especially for her! The others, they can make it sometimes, but when that girl makes a contract she has weeks at most —"

She broke off as the city was bathed in light. Bright as lightning, so bright it made the shadows razor-sharp, but for several long seconds and in a brilliant shade of ruby. Madoka could see the source of it past Homura's head like a new star.

Walpurgis shrieked. Madoka cringed. Homura barely twitched.

A second star appeared in the wake of the fading first. This one lit up the night with a pure, intense sapphire.

Then Homura was grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise. "And there she went," choked Homura, on the verge of furious tears. "You didn't save her couldn't save her all you did was put yourself at stupid risk for _nothing_ —!"

"I'm sorry," repeated Madoka. "I'm so sorry...I've caused you a lot of trouble, haven't I, Homura-chan?"

" _Yes!_ " screamed Homura, threw herself over Madoka's shoulders, and began to sob.

Madoka wrapped her arms around Homura's battered body and let her.

(There was, somehow, no other noise. And no more jewel-toned light. The whole world had been sapped of hue, everything beyond their feet gone from the normal dullness of night to an almost pure grey...including the arc of the water from the broken pipe, frozen in midair, droplets suspended like beads.)

"How many times have you done this?" asked Madoka softly.

It took a few wracking breaths for Homura to get out the answer. "Don't know I don't know lost count back in the four eighties."

Madoka caressed her tangled hair. "And how long are they? Is it always the same?"

This time the words came more quickly. "March sixteenth to now."

Weeks of meticulously tracking a neatly gridded calender had left their mark on Madoka. She knew without having to think about it that it was early Sunday morning, five weeks and two days after her abduction, and that the 16th had been the week before that.

A month and a half. Hundreds and hundreds of month-and-a-halfs.

"Homura-chan," murmured Madoka, blinking hard. She had to hold back her own crying for later. "I bet you were the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful ordinary girl before you had to go through all this."

Homura choked out something incoherent.

"Sorry, I...I didn't hear...."

"I wasn't!" wailed Homura. "Was weak and shy and stupid — useless — an embarrassment — never any good for anyone — the day it always starts is the day I get out of the hospital — I don't know how they let me back in school they should have kept me home and held me back a year I was _pathetic_ —"

"I'm sure you weren't!" said Madoka. "O-of course I didn't know you then, but —"

"— the you who did, you said the same thing then."

Her tears were soaking through the fabric of Madoka's dress. Madoka held her tighter.

"I could have would have killed myself you saved me," she sobbed. "In cycle after cycle you still save me over and over in so many different places and even in the timelines where you never get a chance you're still the same Madoka who _would_ and I love you _so much_ —"

Madoka slipped one hand up under Homura's tangled locks and cradled the back of her neck. "Shhh. I'm here now, okay? I'm right here. Tell me what you need me to do."

Homura shivered against her. "...don't I don't understand."

"I haven't become a magical girl. And I haven't died as a normal girl, either. That was what you've been fighting for, right? Is there anything else, or do I just have to get safely away from here?"

Homura's breath was picking up again. Not with crying this time, but with what felt like the early stages of a panic attack. "This doesn't happen!"

"I know. I know." Madoka didn't, of course — could barely imagine the kind of grooves that had been carved in Homura's mind by now — but as a meaningless noise of comfort it seemed to be helping. "We're going to make it happen now, though. Okay? _I promise._ "

 

***

 

(it isn't much but it's enough to cling to)

the designated Mitakihara flood shelter the gym up on the hill you know it

"Yes! I know where it is."

you go directly there you go be with your family

"H-Homura-chan...my family is...."

in every OTHER now your family is there

(or else something has gone horribly hellishly wrong but she won't think about that)

you have to hurry Walpurgis Night does not come back this way but still you have to get across the bridge before the flooding starts

"And you. You'll come with me?"

don't worry I'll be here but I can still make sure that no familiars follow you

"I didn't mean...well, what about after the battle? What are you going to do?"

(oh god she doesn't know she's going to hyperventilate again there is no pathway in her brain that still remembers how to plan for "after")

"It's okay, Homura-chan! You don't have to worry about it! When it's over, you'll come and find me. Got it? We'll be at the shelter together, and we'll call my parents, and whatever gets planned then, I'll take you with me."

you can't be serious

(has there ever been a timeline in which this was a worse idea?)

"They don't know it was you. I never told them. Neither did...Sayaka."

(she's speechless)

"I wish we hadn't met this way, Homura-chan. But I think it can still be okay. If you stay with me, if you can always see for yourself that I'm safe, that should help you get better, right? And I...if I can be spending time with you indoors somewhere, but we can both get up and walk together out into the sun...I think that'll help me, too."

I

I don't

okay

"You will?"

I

(it's not like she has any better plans)

will

"You promise?"

promise I

_I promise._

 

***

 

In the space of a breath all the color snapped back into the world. The sound, too, of rumbles and explosions and flowing water and unknown things snapping. There was another pained inhuman screech as the last of the blue light faded away.

Madoka was clinging to Homura too by this point, with her own fair share of desperation. It might have been crazy — no, on second thought, there was no "might" about it — but now that she was going to have to live without Sayaka, she didn't want to have to live without Homura too.

A single raindrop hit her bare arm. Moments later, another, on her cheek. She raised her head to take the measure of the clouds, and....

"Homura-chan...? Does _that_ 'happen'?"

Homura drew reluctantly out of her embrace just far enough to turn and see.

The doll of Walpurgis Night was shredded to bits. The gears, no longer turning, were starting to crack. And the largest of the floating objects, a hunk of building with carved granite koi decorating the top, had begun a slow but sure descent.

"This happens," whispered Homura. "This happens when it dies."

The other, smaller buildings were starting to sink as well. The eldritch glow that marked the witch's body was fading. Soon its remains would be just like any other debris...maybe even less than, if the pieces really were doing what it looked like they were doing, breaking apart only to a point and then dissolving into thin air.

"They did it?" asked Madoka, starting to tear up again. This would make it easier too, she knew, knowing that her precious Sayaka wouldn't have regretted an outcome like this. "Sayaka and...."

"Her name is Sakura Kyoko."

"Kyoko-chan came back," breathed Madoka, actually smiling. _This must have been what Sayaka found. She knew it would take her and Kyoko working as a team, and came to the city hoping Kyoko would change her mind and come here too._

Homura was staring distantly at the sight, as if she didn't know what to make of it. "She often when she isn't dead already she does that."

The larger stray lumps of concrete were falling now, more quickly, though still not at the kind of speed physics would have liked. Madoka double-checked the sky directly above them. Empty. Nothing falling here except the beginnings of a drizzle.

With the arm still around Homura's waist, Madoka gave her a tight squeeze. "So you'll come with me."

"There are still some stray familiars," said Homura in an automatic monotone. "I have to get the grief seed then I have to track them down."

"But after that."

"...but after that I promise."

Nodding, fighting down a sniffle, Madoka stepped back and let her go.

"The bridge. Before the flood," added Homura. "The hill. The gym. You remember."

"Uh-huh. I know."

Homura took a step forward, her long heel clicking on the flat roof. Another step. She turned to look back, her slim figure framed by what had become a cascade of falling debris in the background.

Waiting in front of the doorway that would lead her to the stairs, Madoka rubbed her eyes and tried to give an encouraging smile. "This is happening."

Homura nodded. Still, with every few steps as she approached the recently-altered edge of the roof, she checked again.

It was such a small thing, for a whole and living Madoka to still be visible, but it was all she had to offer. It would have to be enough. She could get a move on as soon as Homura was gone.

At last Homura was at her jumping-off point. She bent her knees to launch into the air.

There was a pale flash in the sky above.

For a second Madoka didn't recognize it. Didn't put anything together. Didn't give it a thought.

A second later, she did. But by that point Homura had already leaped forward, just in time for the falling pane of glass to slice her neatly in two.


	20. I'm right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! There may be some art or omake, which will be posted in [my dA gallery](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/) and be linked from [the DW ToC](http://ptahrrific.dreamwidth.org/166199.html), but as for the story proper, this is where it ends. Thanks again to everyone who's been commenting, kudosing, or just keeping my hit count up.

**May 1  
_Salve, terrae magicae_**

The rain came down.

On shaking legs Madoka ran forward. She stumbled to a halt at the edge of what was left of the roof, stared down into the darkness, and clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle a scream.

Homura's body lay splayed across the expensive carpet. The glass had embedded itself in the floor just beyond it, pointed straight up like a postmodern grave marker. Blood pooled around it, soaking into a rug already darkened with water, while something fine and sandlike had sprayed out from under her shield.

Madoka didn't stay long enough to see where her head had landed.

She threw herself backward, out of the rain and the dangerous open air, away from a world that was suddenly too huge and chaotic to deal with. Her hair, messy and wet and with its ribbons almost completely undone, hung in tangles on either side of her face and in strands plastered across her forehead. Her knees gave out as she tripped through the door, and she half-leaned, half-fell against the sturdy metal railing next to where it turned to head down the stairs.

_No. No no no no no no._

Her flesh felt cold down to the bone; she was gasping for breath, quaking, afterimages of the pieces of Homura's body floating before her eyes. She wanted to scream, to sob, to dry-heave, to cry out Homura's and Sayaka's names.

She tightened her grip on the cool metal and yelled:

"INCUBATOR!"

 

***

 

In faded the body that had been waiting, just out of her sight, for weeks now.

_—There's no need to shout. I'm right here.—_

 

***

 

He appeared on the floor beside her, just past the edge of the light from the open door. The same fluffy body, delicate white paws, fluffy marshmallow tail. The same wide-eyed innocent face. A form that could have been calculated to enrapture the kind of girl who collected stuffed animals and rescued stray cats and had devoured every episode in the Pretty Cure franchise.

"You," said Madoka.

 _—Me,—_ said the Incubator. _—Was there something you wanted to ask me, Madoka?—_

"Yes!" She pushed her hair in clumps out of her face. "Homura...can she heal? She was d-dead once before, or we thought she was, and she came back! Can she come back now?"

_—The current damage to Homura's body requires more magical energy to repair than she possesses. Her soul gem will exhaust itself attempting to do so. I estimate that a new witch will be born in no more than four hours.—_

(He wasn't lying. Madoka had heard and read enough of his words to be sure of it. He misdirected, he left things out, he was vague to the point of obfuscation, but she couldn't point to a single line that had been an outright lie.)

"And Kyoko-san? ...Sayaka?"

_—An unfortunate case. Both soul gems were destroyed before they could be corrupted.—_

His voice must have been deliberate too. He sounded as cheerful as ever while expressing sincere regret, which meant he had been flat and emotionless all along: it just so happened that his natural register sounded perky to a human mind.

_—However, if their loss prompts you to make a contract, it will be more than made up for.—_

Lightning flashed across the clouds, followed by a roll of thunder. The ruined city was a blur now through a curtain of rain.

 _—You have an astonishing amount of potential,—_ added the Incubator. _—If you had made almost any kind of wish before Walpurgis Night arrived, you would have been able to destroy it with a handful of shots.—_

The last piece of a long puzzle fell into place.

Sayaka hadn't found any kind of team-up that could defeat Walpurgis Night. What she had found was Madoka. And she had fought and died to keep Madoka out of the battle, the same battle that Homura had shielded Madoka from with her life and strength and all but the last of her mind.

Madoka couldn't just throw away the gift their love had so dearly bought her.

 

***

 

But she couldn't let it end like this, either.

 

***

 

"Incubator."

(Wish them back to life, and they'll be crushed to find how all their effort was wasted.)

_—Yes, Madoka?—_

(Wish for something to change in the past, and she'll walk into a time loop just like Homura's. She wouldn't survive it. She isn't that strong.)

"I...."

(The only thing to do is to go forward.)

"...I have a wish."

 _—I thought you might,—_ said the Incubator.

And now that she had found her resolve, something in Madoka's chest began to glow.

"I'm using my wish for Homura," she said, pushing away from the railing to stand tall on her cold, wet feet. "I want her to be able to complete her mission — and I want her to be okay. That means making her alive again, and healthy, and sane, and not going to _lose_ her sanity ever again. No matter how long it takes. Until the day she finds or creates a timeline where she — and Sayaka, and I — are happy with our fates!"

The pure-white glow was blazing all around her now. Sharp curved shadows reached across the wall, the silhouette of the Incubator raising his second pair of ears like braceleted hands. _—Akemi Homura's wish was highly irregular to begin with. How this one will interact with it, I can't even guess.—_

"Then grant my wish," ordered Madoka, "and we'll find out!"

A tearing pain in her heart made her scream and grab her chest, staggering, trying not to fall as something vital was ripped out of her.

But even before her wet clothes vanished to leave her cloaked in warmth and softness, before her hand wrapped around the rough living wood of her bow and she finally, fully, understood what she had to do, her panicked gasps were breathing in the fragrance of roses.

 

***

**?????  
_Sagitta luminis_**

This isn't the hospital.

It's too warm. She can feel the warmth on her skin like sunlight. It's also much too comfortable, and there's none of the sterile antiseptic scent. Also, her eyes are still closed, and in the hospital it always happens the same way: she reappears with open eyes.

Homura's almost afraid to open them now.

And yet...it's a quiet, uncertain kind of fear. Not blind panic, or soul-carving terror; not the slow burn of paranoia that keeps her half on-edge even while asleep, or the cold dread that grips her in the moments when she can see everything about to go wrong. She's nervous...and that's all. How long has it been since she was just "nervous"?

How long has it been since she could think this clearly?

Homura opens her eyes and slowly turns her head, taking the measure of the room. It's a tower fit for a Western princess, the curved walls of white marble shot through with gold, broken up by half a dozen keyhole windows through which she can see trellises hung with huge pink roses. She's lying on white silk sheets in a gold-framed bed, wearing a high-waisted nightdress with lavender pinstripes that falls below her knees.

As she's sitting up, trying to make any kind of sense out of this (it was too solid to be a dream, and it didn't _feel_ like a witch's barrier), a gentle voice says, "How are you feeling, Homura?"

Again, she should be on instant alert, should be snapping into battle-awareness and already raising a Beretta. Instead, she's...startled. Almost like a normal human being, as she gapes at the figure smiling down at her.

Madoka is leaning on her elbows over the bed's golden headboard. Her hair isn't in its usual twintails, but hanging loose over her shoulders, held back by some kind of headband adorned with white roses. She steps back and swings around the bedpost, and Homura's heart sinks, but not far: her dress both is and isn't the one Homura's grown to know and hate. The colors are the same, along with the sleeves and the neckline and the general theme of ribbons; but it's lighter, fewer layers, the skirt falling in a gentle A-line to her feet. More like a ball gown than an outfit for fighting in, even by the standards of puella magi, who have done battle in some awfully impractical outfits.

"I don't understand," says Homura faintly. (Understatement of the century. And she's lived long enough to know.) "What is this place? What happened? Am I...?"

"Not dead." Madoka sits on the edge of the bed and smiles sheepishly. "Or at least, soon you won't be dead! To be honest, I don't know exactly what we are right now."

Homura's afraid to know the answer, but she has to ask. "Where am I?"

Madoka's eyes are sad but kind. "With me. Is that okay?"

This is such a simple, monumental, impossible question that Homura can only gape for a few seconds before exclaiming, " _Yes,_ you blockhead!"

Then she's tearing up again, and Madoka swings up on the bed beside her to gather her into an embrace. It feels like Madoka. Smells like Madoka. Even if this is a dreamworld, Homura's been so dissociated for so long that this solid, gentle warmth is the most real thing she's felt in years.

"Don't make me go back," pleads Homura. She's clinging, straddling one of Madoka's legs beneath the flowing skirt, Madoka holding her steady in part with a hand on her bare thigh. "I can't do it again. There's nothing left to try that won't be more like killing you than saving you. And I'll do it! I won't want to, I'll hate myself for it, but once all of _that_ comes back," the force of decades that have carved her mind into a barely-human focus on the goal, the fixation that would be pathological if it weren't the least insane option she has, "I won't be able to stop!"

"Shhh," soothes Madoka, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Homura...it hasn't gone away. AIl of that is still with you. I'm holding it back, but it's right outside."

For the first time Homura looks past Madoka's shoulder, studies the wall beyond the head of the golden bed. Framed by an arch of carved blocks in the fairy-tale marble is a startlingly modern door: the steel one she last saw lying in pieces, and before that mostly from the outside, when she had Madoka safely (?) locked behind it.

"I won't open the door until you're ready, okay?" says Madoka. "And then we'll go through it. Together. Whenever something's too much, I'll be right there, and I'll take it out before it can get you."

Homura splays her fingers across Madoka's hip and curls them into the fabric. In the sorriest excuse for a "cool" voice ever, she says, "I was supposed to be the one protecting you."

Madoka strokes her hair, caresses the length of her spine. "You have. And you will again. It's fine if we take turns, right?"

"Right," breathes Homura, pulling back to gaze into her eyes, and then, "Okay —"

The way she smiles, it's magic, it's heaven all by itself, there's nothing for Homura to do but cup Madoka's face in her hands and tip her head forward.

(She's been kissed by Madoka in other timelines. She never starts wanting it less.)

 

***

 

They stand in front of the doorway, side by side. Madoka has an arm around Homura's waist, while Homura holds on to her shoulders. When Madoka flings out her free hand, a dozen live wooden bows spring up from the stone, each nocked with an iridescent pink arrow. A grasping gesture, and each string is drawn back.

The door falls open.

With a blast of air the darkness rushes in — the unleashed memories of pain and trauma and guilt and despair — everything she'll have to pull back in without, somehow, this time, losing her perspective or her sanity. There's anger threaded through it too, a hundred repetitions' worth of fury at a time — Homura's mostly turned it on the Incubators, but there's only so much tension she can burn through when there are no targets other than a sequence of tiny white squirrel-cats that go down in one shot. By turns she's hated everyone she knows, convinced that she could win this thing if not for them — she's even let it fall on Madoka, if only for a second —

( _I forgive you,_ murmurs Madoka against her ear, as bright pink light tears through it.)

There are timelines when she isn't angry, but pretends to be. The time when Madoka comes to her house, scared but ready to face it down, saying she's thinking of making a contract because she doesn't want Homura to have to face Walpurgis Night all alone — _how dare you,_ snarls Homura, _you planned this all along, didn't you — probably let them die on purpose, so you could have Walpurgis Night's grief seed all to yourself — get out of here, I don't want to see you again, if you show up at that battle I'll kill you with my own hands —_

— of course Madoka didn't believe her, or did believe _in_ her, and was on the scene that night to wish her safe —

(These too dissolve in swirls of brilliant pink, the next wave of shadows already bursting through.)

She's grabbed Madoka and run from so many battles, at so many costs. Picked her up and carried her out of Oktavia's barrier, knowing they were leaving Kyoko behind to die. Dragged her bodily away from Charlotte's frozen teeth, though after they closed on empty air the very hungry witch would turn on Mami. Held her back from a burning warehouse, not listening as she kicked and cried and called out Sayaka's name — or Hitomi's — in two horrible irregular timelines, her mother's —

(Madoka doesn't even flinch, just hugs Homura tighter and pulls her forward. They make it a step.)

It's cruel, the way she's hardened her heart against letting Madoka's pain move her, but without it she'd have lost the ability to get out of bed in the mornings after she's knelt over Madoka's writhing body and drawn her Beretta or her Desert Eagle. One go-around they're out of grief seeds and Madoka doesn't _know_ , can't realize what she's feeling as despair floods her soul gem, doesn't understand why the last thing she sees is Homura raising her Remington — _you would have asked,_ Homura thinks later, then forces herself to stop thinking about it at all. It takes years more before she can stop being afraid that she was somehow broken from the start, remembering that first time, her glasses blurred with raindrops, when she hadn't had a chance to steel herself and was crying almost too hard to see but that didn't mean she couldn't _do_ it —

( _You weren't,_ whispers Madoka, _you weren't, you weren't, you weren't._ )

There's a timeline where she spends a good half hour standing over Sayaka's bed, handgun raised, thinking _if it hadn't been for you last time she would have lived_ — she leaves without firing while Sayaka dreams on, and a week later Sayaka contracts just in time to save Madoka from Gisela, leaving Homura to hate herself for almost making that impossible —

After the irregular timeline when Oriko first appears, a puella magi with foresight hell-bent on killing the girl whose witch form she knows will destroy even more than Walpurgis (Homura doesn't know when Madoka got that powerful, and frankly doesn't care), there's no such hesitation. She's only contracted once in all these cycles, there's no way of telling what small factor made the difference or whether it would be easy to prevent, but Homura doesn't care — it's part of her routine now, wake up, fix her eyes, distract Kyuubei, shoot Oriko, shoot Kirika so she won't contract to save Oriko, sign the papers that finalize her transfer to school —

(Another step. Madoka's bows keep firing.)

Kyoko doesn't rescue Yuma in the timelines after that. The witch she was tracking goes back to its normal pattern, the one where it doesn't go after this girl's family, where her parents are still alive — still calling their child useless, still leaving her with burns she keeps her hair and sleeves long to hide. For a while, calling child services goes in Homura's routine. Then she forgets — she's just rewound a timeline where Elsa Maria left Madoka in bloody pieces, she spends the whole next month in a daze — and forgets again the next time, and eventually remembers but decides she can't afford to waste the time —

The texture of the regular timelines never changes, not really, not for long. There's the one where Hitomi contracts, where Homura doesn't think anything of it until she rewinds and finds Kamijou Kyousuke never played classical guitar. But he's still despondent, still depressed, and when he says _if only I'd learned an instrument when I had the chance_ Sayaka the music-lover latches onto it as the heart of his problems and wishes him into a virtuoso at her favorite. From then on every cycle finds Sayaka thinking of the same wish as ever, only swap _guitar_ for _violin_ —

And still sometimes the steps Homura takes are wrong, in catastrophic ways and small ones. The rewind after the first time Madoka kisses her, she isn't thinking straight — she corners Madoka on the school roof and pins her against the fence, kissing, touching, ignoring the way she squirms ( _shhh, you'll like it, and if you knew you'd be demanding that I not waste any time_ ). It stops when Sayaka clocks her over the head with a bento box and calls Mami, who lands a minute later in full uniform to order Homura off. She doesn't know if that Madoka would have forgiven her; Sayaka swears to wish for her death if she gets near Madoka again, and she can't take that risk —

(This Madoka presses a kiss to her temple, and Homura buries her face in Madoka's neck. It doesn't do much good; she can still feel the onrushing darkness, even with the afterimages of pink arrows dancing behind her eyelids.)

A hundred failures, two hundred, three, four, five —

Madoka gathers a wounded, bleeding Kyuubei into her arms and looks up in hurt and horror as Homura steps out of the shadows, gun still at the ready —

Homura guns down an about-to-go-witch Kyoko in front of an innocent Mami, a despairing Mami in front of a clueless Sayaka, a seconds-from-corrupt Sayaka in front of a sobbing Madoka —

(She can't look, can barely stand this, even with all Madoka's power wiping out each wave before it hits.)

And over and over she sees Madoka starting down the same path, steeling herself to do what's necessary no matter how it changes her. Transformed, Madoka shatters a despairing Mami's soul gem before she can finish gunning down her teammates. Uncontracted, Madoka smashes a bucket across the face of a witch-kissed man trying to hold her back in the warehouse they're about to fill with deadly fumes, and runs alone for the door. Madoka contracts to restore Sayaka from despair, and a week later strings her bow and tells Homura it's all right, the second appearance of Oktavia was her fault, so she'll take responsibility.

Every time Homura swears she won't let it happen again, and maybe the next time she doesn't, or the time after that, but sooner or later Madoka takes another fall because Homura isn't good enough —

( _It's okay. You're okay. You've been so good. I love you. I forgive you._ )

For a long time she won't let herself touch Madoka in any way during non-emergency pauses, afraid it'll make it too easy for her to cross a line she can't take back, at least in her own mind. Eventually she has to change the rule or snap, and gives herself an exception for stopping the world to cry on Madoka's shoulder until she feels able to go on.

And if she's started idolizing Madoka, streamlining her into an archetype of her finest traits, well, how can she not? It's one thing to fight and risk death herself for the sake of the girl she loves, but the easier it gets for her to throw away the lives of strangers, then of former friends, the more she has to make herself believe that Madoka is objectively worth _more_ —

(She takes the next step blind, leaning on Madoka to guide her forward.)

The last thing to hit is deceptively sweet: the sound of bells and flowing sand, the scent of lilies. The temptation. Becoming a witch isn't a straight calculation of magic levels; it can be held off longer if you focus, swallow you faster if you give up. Homura's mania has saved her in more than one dire situation, her goal an iron nail pinning her to reality — this last time around it let Madoka pull her back from closer to the edge than she's ever been, closer than she's seen any puella magi get and still return. How can she survive without it, carry on without falling into one living death or [back into] the other?

( _You will!_ says Madoka, as surely as the Madoka who believed in Homura when she was just a fragile normal girl with bad eyesight and worse coordination. _That's why I gave you my wish. Because I'm sure that you can do it._ )

— and then at last the gale dies down, and all the demons are quiet.

 

***

 

Homura's still wrapped around Madoka, face buried in the shoulder of her dress. "I have to go back."

"That's right," says Madoka softly. "Soon."

"...How soon?"

Madoka strokes Homura's silky hair and sends a wave of power down her back, transfiguring her nightgown into something long and flowing and satin. "I think we have time for one dance."

At last Homura raises her head.

They've come out onto the top of the grand staircase in a massive ballroom. White marble pillars and diamond-paned lancet windows stretch more than twelve meters between the floor and the ceiling; the room is lit not by its golden chandeliers but by the brilliant daylight that pours in equally on all sides. It's only from this height that the pattern on the floor can be properly seen: massive diamonds framing bed-sized roses in full bloom. The dancers (you can't have a serious ball without dancers) are still transparent shadows, so they don't block any of it out.

"It's beautiful," says Homura, turning to take it all in. The now floor-length gown swirls around her knees, and she looks down in surprise, a flush rising on her pale face.

(Admittedly, even if she was sure Homura could use a break from high collars, Madoka could have made that neckline plunge a little less.)

"S-so," stammers Homura. "A dance?"

Madoka nods, and offers her arm. "Do you know how to waltz?"

 

***

 

As they glide across the floor, the other shadows begin to gather substance.

These are all in couples too, and it's in pairs that their lines sharpen, their details fill in, until some of them are silhouettes Homura knows — and, for once, doesn't have to rush to kill. They never fully lose their translucense, and they're still all dark as a starry night, until a flash of color catches her eye: a golden ball gown and rust-red coattails. It's the ghosts of Mami and Kyoko, twirling in perfect time.

She looks at Madoka in wonder. Madoka smiles, and nods to the left (Homura nearly trips over her feet trying to look and keep up at the same time).

In this direction she spots a navy tunic over trousers, and, visible as the wearer swings around, a sky-blue heraldic mermaid embroidered on the front. Sayaka, in the phantom garb of a casual knight. Her partner is more than a head shorter than her, one of the faceless shadows, but with edges sharp enough for Homura to recognize the Walpurgis-familiar she'd connected with 80% certainty to Albertine...the Scribbling Witch.

Step-slide-step. Step-slide-step. Homura's the one with a leading hand on Madoka's waist, but it's Madoka who directs their steps, until the closing notes of _The Blue Danube_ for strings.

The shadows begin a slow file toward the stairs, and Homura clasps Madoka's hands. "How much of this will I remember?"

"I...don't exactly know," admits Madoka, with an awkward giggle that breaks the poise of serenity she's held for quite a while now. "But it'll be enough!"

She's starting to lose opacity herself. Homura can look through Madoka's fingers and just see her own.

"Remember that you can do this." She steps back, falling once more out of Homura's grasp. "Remember that I believe in you."

Mami, Kyoko, and Sayaka are waiting at the base of the steps. Albertine holds Sayaka's hand and bounces impatiently in place until Sayaka lets her go and gives her a friendly nudge. She waves before joining in with the flow.

"Hey, Akemi!" It's a shock; it's been months since she last heard Kyoko's voice. "Sorry about giving these two such a hard time!" This Kyoko elbows both Mami and Sayaka, with affection. "Don't let me throw you off too bad, okay?"

The ghostly Mami shrugs Kyoko off with an indulgent smile. "I'm sure you'll make it, Akemi-san," she adds. "Even if we can't be much help."

Madoka reaches Sayaka's side, and Sayaka slings a protective arm over her shoulders, pulling her close. "Listen, transfer student..." she begins, sober and serious, none of her usual bluster getting in the way. "You keep her safe. Whatever it takes. And any time I'm the one who's putting her in danger...consider this a free pass, okay? You'll have my permission, so don't beat yourself up over it. Just do what you have to do."

There's a pure-white light growing at the top of the staircase, its rays shining right through the four girls as it brightens. Most of the other dancers have already walked into it. (Kind of a cliché visual, some small part of Homura thinks...except for the part where it leaves her friends with colorful shadows, vivid as stained glass.)

"I will!" cries Homura. "I'll figure it out. Somehow. And Madoka, I...!"

The last thing she sees before the light whites everything out is Madoka blowing her a kiss.

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

**March 16, 2011  
Wednesday**

In her post-surgery bed in the hospital, Homura opens her eyes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Brain bleach](https://archiveofourown.org/works/706833) by [Faust91x (Arthur91)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arthur91/pseuds/Faust91x)




End file.
